Tragic Women
by Absentia
Summary: She was a Romani, a woman who traveled the stars, a Gypsy... He was just a Cowboy, a man lost in memories and trapped in dreams. She was his angel. They were both tragic women. This is the story...
1. All That Jazz

Disclaimer: If I owned Cowboy Bebop, I'd be a middle-aged Japanese male with a ton of money and my name would be Mr. Watanabe. Contrary to what you may be thinking, I'm a teenaged ethnic mutt female with chump change and lint in my wallet, and my name is none of your damn business. ^^ This is rated for strong language, adult themes and violence, so if you're thirteen or younger, GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM THIS FANFIC!!!!

Chapter One: All That Jazz

Julia. One average name, three simple syllables, one tragic woman.

She was nothing terribly special to look at, when you first glanced at her. But of course, you couldn't only glance once. She drew your eyes back without thought, as though she had some unique, magnetic quality about her. Perhaps she did. It might explain a few things. But once you looked again, you started to notice things.

At first, she looked to be a normal, average woman with an average shade of blonde hair, average fair skin, average smile and blue eyes. But as you looked more closely, you realized you'd never seen a woman with quite that rich a shade of honey gold hair, or seen such silky-looking, perfect ivory skin. Her smile was suddenly something of beauty and sweet sadness, something that ought to be caught on canvas and called a work of art. And her eyes were what caught you most, what got you hooked. They weren't an ordinary blue, and they weren't the eyes of an ordinary woman. They were the deep, engulfing azure of the sky when the last light of the sun was fading away, and it seemed as though they were the part of her that emitted that alluring magnetic pull that gripped your very soul. Her eyes held the fading light of hope and the possibility of a love never imagined and the promise of pain unprecedented. 

Women like Julia started wars and ended them, simply by existing. Men lusted for her and begged for her love, throwing all they had to the four winds for just a taste of what she was. Women yearned to be like her, admiring her or hating her for being Julia. She was a present-day Helen of Troy, an earth-bound Aphrodite.

She was his fallen angel.

Before her untimely demise, Julia had managed to take two best friends, one Vicious and one Spike Spiegel, and sow discord between them, turning them against each other to the point of hatred simply because she could, because it was what she did, because it was what she was. She turned one, Vicious, into a monster, icing over what last of his heart had not been stone and twisting his fragile mind until it broke and drove him insane, making him empty and dead inside, as his eyes so openly reflected. The other, Spike, she transformed into a desperate Romeo, pining away for his lost Juliet, his lost _Julia_, living life like a dream that would never end and touching people as if they were mere products of the dream, inconsequential and insubstantial. All that had mattered to him was Julia; she had been his sun, his moon, his world. He needed her like he needed blood, craved her like he craved oxygen. And then the dream was over, and it wasn't really a dream at all.

Yes, in the midst of it all, Julia had finally been revealed for what she truly was. She wasn't an angel cast from heaven, or a goddess who had wandered too far from Olympus. She wasn't a force of Nature that moved like the wind and struck like lightning. No, that was not Julia. She was really very little more than what she first appeared.

She was just a tragic woman.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Smoke drifted like an acrid-sweet fog through the bar, carrying on its waves the strong odors of depression and liquor, mixing with the bitter tang of nicotine, shrouding the occupants in a comforting haze of oblivion and anonymity. Deliberately dimmed halogen lights set at wide intervals around the room did little to penetrate the cigarette-induced gloom that clung to everything, merely illuminating the dull-edged silhouettes and figures effectively enough so that the inebriated patrons wouldn't kill themselves trying to walk. The soft, bemused strummings of an acoustic guitar pervaded everything, adding quality to the quantity of melancholy in the atmosphere. 

Here at the Black Chapel, people came to forget who they were and drown their sorrows in booze. The infamous bar was the heart of the satellite-city known as Avalon, also called the Celestial City, a place of magic women, where everything was built of precious stone, the streets were paved with gold and the rivers ran with alcohol. Long ago, when the colony satellite was still new and filled with prosperous, hopeful people, it had been called Shangri-La, a refuge for world-weary travelers and those who sought a life of contentment and simplicity. The idyllic and wistful beginnings of the satellite-city had been all but forgotten as, worn down by time and reality, it had become a place that sanctified all manners of sin and self-indulgence. It was a modern Sodom and Gomorrah neatly wrapped in one package, a haven and sanctuary for the illegally inclined or the occasional luckless bastard who ended up with nowhere else to go. The common person living in the present-day city called Avalon tended to be shifty and lost, an outlaw, a criminal, those who wished to disappear, the bounty hunters and the bounty hunted.

As she sat alone at the bar counter, hunched over her dwindling cigarette and nursing a third glass of scotch, Faye Valentine distantly noted how she managed to fit all of those descriptions rather nicely and allowed a faintly amused smirk to pull up at one corner of her scarlet-painted mouth. Some odd months ago, she had gotten rid of that tasteless, grungy yellow vinyl outfit she had sported for so long in trade of a more reserved, though equally seductive ensemble, doing away with the old trashy getup and ridiculous headband and boots. So she sat on her more or less stable corner stool, shapely pale legs crossed and elbows leaned on the well-kept wooden counter, dressed in a pair of black shorts that clung to every curve and hugged her hips lowly, the smooth, soft material reaching just to the tops of her thighs. Midriff bare, her chest was clad in a strapless red halter of the same cloth as the shorts, revealing a respectable amount of cleavage while harping on the sleek slope of her bared shoulders. Three or four plain, thin silver chokers adorned her neck, matching the several small bangles adorning the same wrist on which her "magic bracelet", as she sarcastically dubbed it, also fit snugly. Her hair had grown about an inch in the year since she'd deserted the Bebop and the feathery violet tresses shaped to her neck and face neatly, bangs framing her emerald eyes, accented by her sooty lashes and crimson dusted eyelids. Faye used her looks as what she knew them to be, a weapon, an art form, as a way of getting done what she needed or wanted. And in that light, she had never been in better form than she was now.

Pausing to brush a few errant purple strands from her forehead, she took her diminishing cancer stick in two long, slender fingers and blew a stream of smoke from between her lips, haunted green eyes watching with disinterest from beneath half-lowered lids as she slowly contributed to the permanent smog that obscured her surroundings. She lifted her cigarette back to her mouth, took a last long drag and stubbed out the glowing butt in the nearby ashtray before downing the rest of her scotch in one big gulp. She had come to this bar on this particular evening for a reason, and she wanted to be well on her way to getting drunk before she proceeded with her plan.

It was Open Mic night at the Black Chapel, and Faye wanted to work off some steam. Sure, violence was a great stress reliever and so was sex, but she didn't feel like getting in a brawl right now, nor did she particularly fancy sharing a bed with some random drunkard off the streets. Much as she used her beauty and body as a tool, Faye Valentine was no whore and had no inclinations of becoming such. So she was resorting to kareoke, something she had done regularly and often when she was younger, especially during high school and college. Of course, that had been over fifty years ago and she was less confident about her singing abilities than she had been, so Faye had no desire or intention of approaching this course of action completely sober. Not that she wanted to get drunk off her ass and make a fool of herself, but she would prefer to have a healthy dose of spirits flowing through her veins to lower her inhibitions a little and help her loosen up.

Eyeing the stage reluctantly, Faye frowned, wondering why the microphone was utterly desolate. The only person on stage was the guy playing guitar, longish hair hiding his face as he bent over his instrument. This was a bar on Open Mic night, so why weren't the ridiculously drunk getting up there and crooning their intoxicated asses off?

The answer came quickly enough: just like her, all the others who might want a shot at the mic were too chickenshit to get up and go first, so they were waiting on somebody else to lead off. Snorting, Faye shook her head and rolled her eyes. She had never been one to flow with the masses, so she figured she might as well show some guts and make the first move.

Gathering her courage and confidence about her like a cloak, she slid off the cracked vinyl seat of the stool and stood, picking up her black leather jacket from the bar counter beside her and slipping it on. Not that the bar was cold or anything, but she'd prefer people to be paying more attention to her voice than her breasts when she went up there. Besides, the room was crowded with mainly men, the only women she could really identify being the bored-looking, scantily clad waitresses behind the bar.

Hands placed innocently in her jacket pockets, Faye smiled a little as she strode slowly up towards the stage, knowing that she had already garnered the attention of nearly every man in the place. Really, could it seriously be considered her fault if she just _naturally_ happened to sway her hips just so when she walked? So far as she knew, the only male's attention she didn't have, besides the burly bartender, seemed to be the guy playing his guitar, head still bowed as his lean hands and strong fingers lovingly danced over the strings. She stopped just short of the stairs to the stage, lids half-lowered as she cleared her throat for his attention.

After a moment, the man turned his head slightly in her direction to indicate he was listening, but he still didn't deign to look up. Smirking, Faye supposed he was one of those stoic musician types who cared for nothing but his instrument and his music. She'd certainly seen plenty of that type roaming around, busking for pocket change in the streets of Avalon. "I'd like to do a song. It's sort of old, so if you don't know it, just feel free to adlib."

"What's the song?" His voice surprised her a little, such a clear tenor that easily carried a strong sense of personality in the amused tones.

Smiling a little, she nodded, not expecting him to know the song when she told him; it had been "sort of old" before she was even frozen. "Makes You Happy. By a woman called Sheryl Crow. Again, you can wing it if you don't know it."

The guy's only answer was a short nod, and whatever exactly he meant by that, Faye took it to say he'd do just so and moved up to the microphone. She tapped it once to ensure that it was on and then, satisfied with its volume, waited for the guitar-man to lead her in. Her eyes widened in surprise when he started off with the exact notes she remembered, but regained her composure in time for the first verse. Leaning in to the mike, she closed her eyes and began in a lilting, husky voice, "I belong a long way from here. Put on a poncho, paid for mosquitoes and drank till I was thirsty again. We've been searching through thrift store jungles. Found Geronimo's rifle, Marilyn's shampoo, and anything that's closer to them. Well okay, I made this up. I promised you I'd never give up."

As she launched into the chorus, she opened her eyes wide and gained volume, tossing her head a little to get her hair out of her face. "If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad! If it _makes_ you happy, then why the hell are you so sad? We've been down, real low down. Listen to gold trend, derail your own train, well who hasn't been there before? I come around, around the hard way. Bring you comics in bed, scrape the mold off the bread, and serve you French toast again. Well okay, I still get stoned. I'm not the kinda girl you take home. If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad! If it _makes_ you happy, then why the hell are you so sad? If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad! If it _makes_ you happy, then why the hell are you so sad?"

During the guitar solo, she took a moment to brush her hair behind her ears and detached the mic from the stand, backing away a little so she could watch the other patrons without the stage lights blinding her completely. "We've been far, far away from here. Put on a poncho, paid for mosquitoes and everyone in between. Well okay, we get along. So what if right now everything's wrong? If it _makes_ you happy, it can't be that bad! If it _makes_ you happy, then why the hell are you so sad? If it makes you happy, it can't be that bad. If it makes you happy, then why the hell are you so sad…"

There was some scattered applause and a few annoying catcalls when Faye replaced the mic and stepped off the stage, but she ignored it all. Trying to keep the satisfied smile from her lips, she sat down at her same stool and called for another scotch. It didn't matter; she was riding a giddy high like no alcohol or drug could give her, and she nostalgically recalled having the same feeling before she had ever been Faye Valentine, before she'd so desperately needed such a release.

The barkeep set her refilled glass down in front of her, nodded gruffly, and moved back to the shot rack, where he began repolishing each and every glass for the umpteen-millionth time that evening.

Faye smirked a little, glad he wasn't the type who incessantly pestered his patrons with that classic "you wanna talk about it?" line, out for their story, and the fact that the more a person talked, the drunker they tended to get. She hated that type. People who wanted to know your story never really gave a damn; they were just looking for a way to be less bored, or to use you. She was sick of being used.

Reclining her head a little to stare at the hazy ceiling, she was reminded how Jet Black was much the same way. He was perfectly alright with you if you didn't feel the need to spill your guts to him. Of course, he would call you a lazy, freeloading shrew afterwards, but if you needed your peace, he usually tended to let you have it. That had always been something she had appreciated about him, because it had been nice to just be left alone. Although… sometimes, to be left alone was the last thing she needed. Like the day she had regained her memories… She'd shut him up with a glance when he started to ask where she'd gone, but if he'd only pursued the subject… god, how she could've used that release. Maybe then she wouldn't have emotionally exploded on Spike before he left like some kind of human geyser.

_Heh, yeah right. Like talking to someone about your past would have kept you from practically going Fatal Attraction on him. I mean, gee, he was only going off to get himself killed, no biggie._

Hoping to drown out her cynically veracious inner voice, Faye snatched her glass off the bar counter and brought it to her lips, tilting her head back until she felt her hair brush the spot between her shoulder blades. When the scotch had been emptied down her throat and the comforting burning began to subside, leaving behind a friendly buzz, she slammed the empty glass back down on the counter, licking her lips to catch any stray droplets of the intoxicating booze.

The bartender returned to fill her glass again but she held up her hand, indicating for him to hold off. "I think I'm done for tonight. Thanks anyways." Tossing the correct amount of change on the glossy wooden counter, she stood and headed towards the door, eyes on the toes of her black zip-up ankle boots and bangs conveniently concealing her emerald hues.

She stopped at the door and turned back, ears catching the beginning tunes of another old song, one she knew from her past, interest piquing as to who would request such an out-of-date tune. Her eyes widened slightly as she recognized guitar-man, who had pulled a tall stool up to the mic and was simultaneously strumming the cords of the melody and singing the lyrics. His hair still mainly obscured his face, particularly his eyes, but from what she could see, he was younger than she would have imagined and better looking as well. And if she had thought his speaking voice had been pleasant, she could drown in the tones of his singing.

"Past the road to your house. That you never called home. Where they turned out your lights. But we say you'll never know. I remember running through the wet grass, falling a step behind. Both of us never tiring, desperately wanting." She stood entranced at the song, feeling oddly as though it were directed to her. "When they pumped out your guts. Filled you full of those pills. You would never cry out, deserving all the truths. Say the worst is over. Kick it over again. Then they ask what went wrong. When they turn you on again. When they turn you on again. I remember running through the wet grass, falling a step behind. Both of us never tiring, desperately wanting. I remember running through the wet grass, falling a step behind. Both of us never tiring, desperately wanting. Kick em right in the face. Make them wish they weren't born! And if they bring up your name. You'll say, 'You want more?'. Pity bursting their worlds. Never give it a chance. Then they ask what went wrong. When you never had it right. No, you never had it right. I remember running through the wet grass, falling a step behind. Both of us never tiring, desperately wanting. Oh, the letters I've dropped off, though they say you got them all. Finally figured out some things you'll never know. No, oh… Take back your life. Let me inside. We'll find a cure. If you care… If you care to have it more! I remember running through the wet grass, falling a step behind. Both of us never tiring, desperately wanting…"

As the song ended, Faye felt an irrational panic fill her breast, setting her heart to beat at her chest like a captive raging to be set free. Breathing heavily, she whirled around and stumbled outside and into the wet, dimly illuminated evening, taking deep, desperate gulps of the temperature-controlled Avalon night air. Hair falling as a curtain around her face, she bent at the waist, taking a moment to catch her bearings and regain her balance. As the swell of illogical fear subsided, she shook her head, scolding herself for acting so ridiculously over nothing. "Get a grip, Valentine. It was just a song."

Sighing, she straightened back up and shook her hair from her face, smoothing it back with both hands. Things were so crazy normally, she really didn't need to start going insane at the moment. _Heh, I've got too much on my mind as it is. No room for split personalities or voices._

Tossing her hair blithely, Faye shoved her hands deep into he pockets, deciding to take a bit of a walk around the town before heading back to her rented out hotel room, where she would predictably reminisce on many things, from her time on the Bebop to her past, until she finally passed out from sheer exhaustion in the wee hours of the morning. That wasn't exactly what she was looking forward to at the moment, ruefully wishing she had something to do rather than somewhere to go and be unceasingly alone with her memoirs.

It wasn't long until Faye was walking alongside groups of strangers, mixing with the faceless revelers of the night on the main streets of Avalon. Bright neon lights splashed colors like spilled, vibrant paints on the artificial rain-slicked streets, coloring the laughing, anonymous faces that swirled like riptides in a chaotic sea of merriment around her. Raucous laughter and the boisterous sounds of drunkards, gamblers and prostitutes erupted in all directions, spilling from doorways and balconies into the avenues below, tinkling like musical chimes in the ears of the Celestial City's reproachable population.

In Faye's ears, the music of the place rang a hollow note, tinny and empty as though it was a recording playing through bad speakers. Sighing, she squinted at the blindingly bright floodlights playing back and forth at the entrances to the large, extravagant buildings in the casino district and pulled a slim pair of small, ovalframe sunglasses and fixed them to her face, sliding them down the bridge of her nose to peer over the sleek rims at the crowd. People-watching was something she hadn't done in a long while.

For a moment, she paused on the sidewalk, ignoring the people who bumped and grumbled past her. She stared almost longingly at the Treasure Island casino and hotel, lower lip sticking out as she contemplated blowing a few woolongs at poker tables. Sighing, she shook her head and turned away, walking on and past , ignoring the itchy-fingers sensation she felt when presented with the opportunity to gamble herself into oblivion. Gambling was as good as any liquor, without the headache and vomiting in the morning. But no, Poker Alice would have to rest tonight.

As she came upon the Golden Chip and the Silver Deck sister casinos, Faye took a right turn, divulging herself from the meandering crowd of miscreant society, ensconcing herself in the confines of a narrow, dark and dingy alleyway. The garbage-lined, dimmed, less engaging walls of the two associate casinos reaching high and imposing to her left and right, she strode at a leisurely gait, booted feet picking a careful path through the questionable articles of litter that strove to impede every step. The little byway was less an alley and more a shortcut to reach her final destination, her hotel. Though a bit long and gloomy, the filthy side street would get her to her place of residence more quickly and with less hassle than if she were to go by any of the main ways. After all, it wasn't as if her lodging was in a particularly inconspicuous or secluded location.

Sniffing a little to herself, Faye frowned, wondering, _Why exactly _did_ I pick the street chock-full of whorehouses to make my semi-permanent residence?_ Snorting, she answered her own rhetorical question, eyes always ahead and senses constantly alert. In Avalon, everywhere was a bad part of town, and it wouldn't do to let her guard down. _Because the pimp next door was easy to charm into a nice price, with promises not to even publicly recognize you, let alone touch you._

Faye's head came up again and she smiled a smile that was more akin to a grimace as her peridot eyes graced the aptly named Strip. Arranged in no particular order along the attenuated boulevard were a collection of tawdry and meretricious establishments catering to the licentious-natured and libidinous patrons who populated the many bordellos, brothels, strip joints, whorehouses and exotic dancing clubs. Nestled ironically among these was her "hotel", if it could be so loosely termed that.

The Emerald Salamander was a small, ill illuminated building standing a miniscule three stories beside its co-owned, less reputable five story brothel sister, both buildings signed to the name of one Elizar Amarand, forty-eight year old pimp and business owner. The little inn being his secondhand business venture, Elizar was more a man who knew beauty and grace, and how to twist, prolong, and sell it. When Faye had shown up four months ago, pissed off, tired and hungry in her yellow vinyl getup, she had been instructed by a man in a minor restaurant when asking for a place to board to locate the Vanity Fair and a Mr. Elizar Amarand. Faye, travel-weary and disgruntled, had thoughtlessly taken the man at his word and located the whorehouse christened Vanity Fair, having no idea or notion that she was walking into a prostitute house.

Of course, that hadn't stopped her from being offended when Elizar had looked at her appraisingly with just the slightest leer to his eyes as they roamed over her slim, tight figure and ample bust, nor had it deterred her from shoving her pistol under his stubbly chin when he had told her that he could wrangle her a deal of charging one thousand woolongs a night, with him receiving ten percent of the cut. When the aging pimp had laughingly informed her that he owned both an inn called the Emerald Salamander as well as the infamous bordello, Vanity Fair, he explained that he had friends all over the opprobrious satellite-city keeping an eye out for women looking to be demimondaines and that his man at the restaurant had probably only told her the wrong establishment, she had grudgingly put away her gun. Of course, when he had asked where on earth she managed to conceal her weapon in such a revealing outfit, she had only dignified him with a vulpine smirk, saying that a woman should never reveal her secrets.

After that initial meeting, she had seen Elizar blessedly few times, once to mete out her rent rates and once again to deal with a few necessary repairs to the "apartment". Other than that, she might only catch sight of the man in passing, and neither ever acknowledged the other.

It wasn't grand or luxurious, or even very respectable, but it was, for the moment, home.

Heaving a little sigh, Faye traveled the last distance to solitude, ignoring the crowds of lusty men and women roving the sidewalks alongside her.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Faye lay on her bed, a thin sheet covering her naked form. She didn't normally sleep in the buff, but her air conditioner had broken again, and she'd be damned if she woke up feeling like an over-greased fried chicken leg and smelling like a filthy man.

Growling softly beneath her breath, Faye squeezed her eyes tightly shut, throwing an arm over her face in hopes that her hyperactive brain would get the message and shut down. She'd been tossing and turning all night, words from days gone by rolling unspoken on her tongue, the visions to match scrolling across the backs of her eyelids.

_…Cold metal floors, moving corridors, red hair, annoying mutt, a black void dotted with white, bionic arm, little trees, cigarettes, a ratty yellow couch, mop of green curls, blood, sweat, gunsmoke…_

…I resigned from myself

Took a break as someone else

It's like I've come undone

And I've only just become

Inflatable for you

You're so pretty in white

Pretty when you're faithful

So pretty in white

Pretty when you're faithful

So pretty in white

Pretty when you're faithful

When you're faithful

I don't mind most of the time

But you pushed me so far inside

You're so pretty in white

Pretty when you're faithful

So pretty in white

Pretty when you're faithful

So pretty in white

Pretty when you're faithful

So pretty in white

Pretty when you're faithful

When you're faithful

When you're… faithful [1]

Sighing, she lay on her stomach, clutching the white sheet in loose fists. At last, her green eyes alighted on the cracking light-blue paint of the wall, a dim, sad wistfulness glazing over the emerald hues. Releasing the rough-thread sheets, she slid her hands beneath herself and shoved the weight of her body upwards, stilling as she was propped up by thin arms, slender shoulders drooping beneath the bedclothes.

_I'm always alone. I want to wake up and hate the world, with someone who hates it the same as me. Why am I still alone? Why did he go? Why did he leave me again?… Damn you, Sp-_

Faye's thoughts were interrupted by a sharp rap upon the apartment door. Her head snapped to attention, eyes narrowing suspiciously upon the thin piece of wood, and she slowly, silently eased her lithe, alert form from the mattress, cautious of the squeaky old springs. As her feet touched the barren, cold floor, she shoved aside a wave of nostalgia, remembering how the Bebop's floors always froze the soles of her feet, and donned her bathrobe, belting it loosely at her waist.

Reaching for the rickety little nightstand by the bed, her small hand deftly slipped into the half-open drawer and withdrew her firearm. It was savagely comforting how the butt of her trusty Glock fit to her palm, how her petite finger curled so perfectly around the cold, deadly smoothness of the trigger, as if it had been made just for her. She was Faye Valentine; nothing fazed her; she became someone else in order to survive. Familiarity with one's weapon was a must in this antiseptically indifferent future she had been thrust into, and Faye had an affiliation with her gun as if it were a natural extension of herself.

And right now, she needed it. She'd given no one notice of where she'd been staying, hadn't even made so much as an acquaintance who might feel the urge to look her up, and Elizar knew better than to come around so late; besides, he used the phone. Whomever stood behind Door Number One, was not a welcome guest.

Breathing shallowly through her nose, she crept silently forward as the loud knocking came another time, sidling up beside the door with the safety off and hammer cocked, clip full. A moment later, nearly soundless, footsteps began to carry her mystery caller away from her door, taking him or her down the hall until the soft footfalls disappeared.

Faye was no fool. Free hand sliding across the wall, it came to rest on the smooth, cool roundness of the doorknob. Her pulse beat a mad drum in her ears, the quiet _in, out_ whispering of her breath through her lungs keeping her focused. Slowly, carefully, she began to turn the knob. When the audible _snick_ of the single-chamber tumbler falling back sounded like an explosion in the silence, Faye jerked open the door and threw herself into the empty frame, feet skidding softly on the bare floor, legs twisting to correct her thrown balance, robe fluttering with her own momentum, arms coming down and locking before her, on hand curled around the Glock, trigger finger ready and waiting, the other steadying her wrist for the recoil and jade eyes searching the hallway in front of her frantically for a target.

The corridor was empty, darkened and silent as the dead, a muffled stillness settling in the air through the sleep of the few other tenants. However, Faye did not relax her stance, muscles coiled and ready, perspiration beading on her forehead, until she had stepped out into the passage and thoroughly inspected the shadows reaching down either side of her little suite.

When at last she was satisfied that she was alone, she allowed her body to lax, sinking heavily against the wall beside her open door, a loud burst of carbon dioxide rushing from her lungs. She hadn't even realized she'd been holding her breath. A breathless, short burst of bitter laughter expulsed from her lips, a satirical smirk curving her unpainted mouth. Paranoia had become second nature in the past months; after all, it was healthier to be crazy than careless.

She started to draw in a breath, then. Froze. A cold wave ran down Faye's spine as her eyes widened, showing white all around. Almost instantly, they snapped shut, and she closed her mouth, inhaling deeply of the hall air through her nose. Faint but oh so familiar, the air was tainted with redolence that haunted some of her nightmares and old dreams. Even after she exhaled, the scent lingered in her nostrils, the well-known musky tang of gunpowder and sweet fragrance of that particular brand of cigarettes.

Her eyelashes were rich black crescents upon the ivory of her cheekbones, shining with a wetness concealed behind. Etched upon the backs of her eyelids like a priceless painting, she saw a lopsided grin and two distinctive, mismatched eyes.

Look at me, my depth perception must be off again

Cuz this hurts deeper than I thought it did

It has not healed with time

It just shot down my spine

You look so beautiful tonight

Reminds how you'd lay us down and gently smile

Before you destroyed my life

Would you find it in your heart

To make this go away

And let me rest in pieces

Let me rest in pieces

Would you find it in your heart

To make this go away

And let me rest in pieces

Let me rest in pieces

Pieces

Look at me, my depth perception must be off again

You got much closer than I thought you did

I'm in your reach, you held me in your hand

Would you find it in your heart

To make this go away

And let me rest in pieces

Let me rest in pieces

Would you find it in your heart

To make this go away

And let me rest in pieces

Let me rest in pieces…[2]

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Finis (until next time)

*[1] Inflatable – Bush

**[2] Rest in Pieces – Saliva

Author's Note: Yeah, gonna warn ya right off the bat. These little Author's Note things? I like them. Very much. So does my Beta Reader. In fact, perhaps a little too much. So much so that I believe she has invented the Beta Reader Note. So beware. Okay? Kay. Well, hm… if you didn't notice, I like to put music into my fics. A whole hell of a lot. I suppose it's my way of making up for the lack of background music. *shrugs* Whatever. Anyways. I really hope you like this. Little short, but chapters get longer as the storyline picks up. By the time chapter one goes up, I'll already have chapter two ready and waiting to go online in the wings. It all depends on reviews as to whether or not I continue to update this. I hope so far that everybody's in character, not that there's a lot of 'everybody' to _be_ in character yet. I know this chapter's slow, but it picks up right after this, I promise. Gets veeery interesting. *grins* Heheh. Review and see, eh? Oh, and there's a few things in this chapter kinda foreshadowing events to come. Think you can pick up my subliminal messages? Nehehehe… I hope not. It ruins the punch of the surprise. And whatcha think about my little Julia theory, mm? Let me know, if you would. Tanks. *waves* Latazz.


	2. Blues and Hard Rock

Disclaimer: Did you or did you not read chapter one? Pfft.

Chapter Two: Blues and Hard Rock

This evil world

Is punishing you

For the things that you say

You carry your weight

But I, I don't know

It's about you all the time

It's easy to fall

Well you're going up

And you're pulling me down

It would get you down

But you're, you're constantly

Fighting anyhow

You're sold so quickly

You drop to your knees

To be part of the scene

You know what I mean

And I'm, I'm trying

To keep you grounded

Where are you

Where are you now

You're slowly slipping away

Where are you

What've you done

You're slowly slipping away

Where are you

Where are you now

One day you'll be found

Crawling around

With a knife in your back

Someone keeps track of you

You were only a human

But now you're square

Your life's so empty

You throw a fit

If you don't get your way

You're going insane

And I, I'm right here

To watch it go down

Where are you

Where are you now

You're slowly slipping away

Where are you

What've you done

You're slowly slipping away

Where are you

Where are you now

You're slowly slipping away

Where are you

What've you done

You're slowly slipping away

Away…

Don't act so surprised

You've paid for your sins

And you've tested your faith

And now it's too late

Objection overruled

Where are you

Where are you now

You're slowly slipping away

Where are you

What've you done

You're slowly slipping away

Where are you

Where are you now

You're slowly slipping away

Where are you

What've you done…

You're slowly slipping away!!

You're slowly slipping away

You're slowly slipping away

You're slowly slipping away…[1]

Faye woke up in a bad mood. She felt like shit warmed over, or as if it were that time of the month and she had just discovered she was fresh out of Midol. Thankfully, she was only the former, though that gratitude to the whimsical powers-that-be in no way bettered her foul mood.

Squeezing her eyes tightly shut, she willed herself not to wake up, not to open her eyes to greet that horrid morning light of another dreary, lonely, empty day. Sighing gruffly, her hand shot out in blind search, heading directly to where the addiction driving her exhausted body landed every morning. However, her lethargy that morning was affecting her muscular reflexes, and not even the a.m. autopilot was working properly.

"Holy fucking shit!"

The bounty head-turned-hunter shot up in bed, swearing loudly as the loud and painful crack of her knuckles against the hard edge of the nightstand brought her to almost full awareness. Cradling the injured hand to her chest, she examined the red but unbroken flesh with bleary, haggard green eyes, sighing yet again and swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. She began to get up, paused, reached gingerly, almost hesitantly towards the bedside table, glaring as if it might bite and snatched her half-empty carton of Cowboys.

As she pulled in a much-needed drag of nicotine-laced smoke, Faye frowned with one corner of her mouth, the glowing cig hanging from the other. It was a cheap brand, hardly giving her the necessary buzz her sleep-deprived body needed to drag itself from bed. Half-hooded emeralds gazed dully at the ceiling, musing over that one pack of cigarettes. That brand had seemed so much sweeter, so much heavier than any other she had ever smoked, and she had savored every last drag.

It had been his last reserve, his secret hold stashed under the worn, threadbare cushions of that hideous mustard-colored couch, where he had thought no one knew of its existence. Apparently, he had never counted to see if any of his precious smokes had gone missing. After he died, after she left for the last time, they had become hers, stashed always on her person in her pockets. That same red sweater still hung on its lone hanger in the closet, faintly redolent of that sweet, beautiful scent, a smell she could get lost in.

Well, had gotten lost in. Before last night, Spike had been delightfully low in her mind, thoughts of that sadistic green-haired bastard popping unwelcomely up only on occasion. But last night… last night she was slammed with every thought she'd ever had of him, ones she wished she'd never imagined and ones she relished or hated. She was drowned in memories of the man's smile, the sound of his voice, how it was so aggravatingly musical when it taunted her, his beautiful, tragic discordant eyes, the rare tortures she'd suffered at his brief touch.

Faye growled and shook her head so hard, it seemed her thin neck might snap. "Aaagghh, damnit, stop this, Valentine! Geez, it's not like you were in love with lunkhead."

Saying the words out loud helped a little. No, she, Faye Valentine, had never been in love with Spike Speigel. Ha! The very idea. No, she'd simply suffered some ridiculous crush, most likely reminiscent of her recently reacquired schoolgirl days_._

__

Of course, that doesn't account for the times when I didn't have _a past, but we're not going there… Thin ice, Valentine, thin ice._

Faye snorted derisively at her inner voice, eyes narrowing on the door. No, last night had been some strange coincidence, too weirdly real to be a dream, too reekinglyakin to days when she lived under constant threat and watch of creditors. No. No, last night was a complete happenstance, that heart-panging pungent fragrance something only similar, the rest of the delusion induced by alcohol. She simply must have drunk more than she had thought. Although, she didn't have a hangover. But hell, that was just her weird constitution for ya. She could get drunk as piss and wake up sunny and fine the next morning.

_Dammit, no more moping in bed, Faye! Get your ass dressed and out there!_

And so she did. Donning an ensemble similar to the one of last night- a red cotton skirt, the hem of which reached well up above her knees while completely covering her ass, and a backless yellow silk shirt, baring the muscled, flat plane of her stomach and shaping to the full swell of her breasts, sleek strap circling around to her nape drawing a healthy dose of attention to her throat. Sleek and fitting snugly to her calves, the Stiletto-heeled boots' black material shone like brand new, telling nothing of the bounties she'd reeled in wearing them, of the piercing kicks she'd delivered with the dangerous points. She smiled down at her feet, oddly proud of how well she took care of her things. She slipped into a black, slightly oversized suit jacket that she vaguely recalled snagging from a particularly snappily dressed target.

She pulled different faces in front of her mirror, checking her makeup and pressing her lips together to blend the sorrel gloss on her mouth. Smiling cattily at her reflection, Faye winked at her green-eyed doppelganger, checked her guns, the slim, sharp blade secured in her boot, and left.

"Time to business."

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"And you're absolutely _sure_ you can't help me?" Faye's voice was innocent and demure with a temptress's undertone, arms leaning her further over the cracked and dirtied counter, breasts pushing forward so that the man's eyes were unavoidably drawn to them. _And such attractive eyes,_ she thought.

The man was a blackmarket roadee, sporting a thin goatee on his pointed chin, shifty, glittering black little eyes that were far too close together set over a long, beaky nose that presided over most of his emaciated face. His cheekbones stuck out in sharp angles, giving him the look of a flesh-clothed skeleton. Bushy eyebrows and large, round ears made him look like the rat he personified. How appropriate that his oh-so clever streetname was Rizzo. Oh yes. She had seen the Muppets as a child. Pigs and frogs? The horror.

Rizzo shoved with bony fingers at his matted tangles of greasy hair, gnarled dirty fingernails snagging in the ugly nest of drab brown strands. Too-long feet shifted the featherweight of his gaunt frame constantly from one to the other as he wiped his sweaty palms down the stained and grungy coveralls he appeared to live in. "I don't think so, Miss. What y-you're asking for is-"

"Should be no problem for someone like you, right?" she smoothly interjected, a confident smile reinforcing her faux encouragements. Dammit, she really needed this information, and she would eat shit and die before she let this chance slip out of her scarlet-tipped claws. This guy was supposed to be a good hacker- and exactly the type she had always envisioned- and she needed his skills to get what she wanted.

Heaven and Hell forbid she didn't get what she wanted.

"U-um, I dunno, Ma'am. I-it's k-kinda tough to hack that system- and you're not offering to p-pay that much- and… m-my c-current employers wouldn't l-like it if I helped an outsider…"

His nerve-twitching stutter and paranoid, mousy behavior set her teeth on edge, lending her alluring smile a hard edge and stabbing an _I miss Ed_ pang through her gut. At least the nutty little girl wouldn't be so hard to wrangle into the job, nor would she be such an annoying accomplice. Hell, truth to tell, she'd _liked_ the kid. Edward was the only member of the old crew that had showed some sort of affection to the adrift woman, unlike those hard-hearted, unappreciative-

"M-ma'am?"

Faye's emerald hues widened in surprise and a tad of anger when she realized she'd been spacing on the job. _Dammit!_ However, she recovered quickly. Drawing upon her poor-helpless-lil-'ol-me reserves, she produced a wan smile, eyes softening and face saddening. "Oh, I'm sorry. It's just that… well, this information is so important, and…" She sighed dramatically, kohl lashes lowering so that she could peer up at her quarry in discretion.

Irises limning chartreuse beneath the brightly spazzing halogen overhead, Faye watched the flickering emotions pass dubiously over the two-bit hacker's transparent visage. He was wary and apprehensive, but his candle-wax resolve was melting fast under the pressure of her cheesy routine. "W-well…" he began, but shut up with a squeak and electric shock-resembling jolt as the door behind him and to his right slammed open, tarnished brass knob cracking against the dingy plywood walls.

A massive man in a monkey suit stood there, military-cut brown hair, large, muscular features and beady dark eyes making him look like a walk-off from Planet of the Apes. He had an earpiece listener wired from his lapel to his left ear, and had most likely been listening to the entire conversation since Faye set foot within Rizzo's lair. A disapproving scowl marred his already less-than-attractive features as he glared down at the violet-haired Romani, though the rat-boy was the one cowering under the suit's imposing shadow.

Faye pouted at the man, finely arched brows stitching into an unhappy line over the bridge of her nose. "Well, let me guess, you're hear to kick me out?"

The ape's upper lip curled at one corner; geez, was he incapable of human speech? How much more stereotypical could this man get? He probably had a name like Butch or Rosco. He uttered a short, intellectually unbecoming sentence, his voice a deep bass that rumbled like so much thunder. "Got it right on the first one, Missy."

Faye resisted a glare. Ha! He thought he could talk down to her? He had a gun buried inside his jacket, as a cursory glance at the obvious bulge revealed, and by another glance towards his meaty, clumsy-looking hands, he knew no more about it than which end the bullet came out and how to make it fire. She could plug a sweet little lead ball into his forehead before he had the time to so much as reach for his piece. She smiled demurely, backing up from the counter and straightening her spine, one hip cocking to draw attention. "I get the message, big boy. Whatever, it wasn't worth my time anyways. Ciao." With a casual wave of one immaculately manicured hand and a final look at the cowed hacker, she made her exit into the alley beyond, speculatively observing the litter of empty cardboard boxes and rotting garbage.

She emerged from the narrow passage into a wider street, the artificial light, meant to resemble the sun's, streaming down in broken spills between incongruent articles of clothing hung out to dry on wire lines that created a cloth and shadow canopy, various trains of apparel marching along intersecting routes. The buildings surrounding the broad venue were all of uniform dirtied red brick and identical, single pane grimy windows that faced a view offering nothing but a twin set on the opposite walls. Ancient-style fire escapes climbed a jagged path up the cracked bricks, rust decorating the black metal rungs and spinning tales of age and disuse.

The buckled pavement beneath her heels as she walked was bleak and blistered, half-masked by the hodgepodge fodder thrown carelessly onto the obsolete track. Lying in silent camaraderie with the refuse were discarded, decaying memories and tokens of the past no longer necessary for remembrance. It was a truly depressing setting, one that reminded her just how unfriendly the neighborhood was. Not that, on Avalon, there was any sort of "nice" part of town. It was all one big happy Hell, only differing by way of greater and lesser degrees.

Sighing in a most decidedly melancholy manner, Faye treaded the precarious byway, despondently pondering her next move. Last night must have been a bad omen, this morning's lovely wake-up call another. She'd been having a shitty day since she began her methodic procedures much earlier, running into dead end after dead end. No one could or would help, wanted more money than she could afford, or happened to be conveniently unavailable for what she asked of them. It was only edging off of afternoon and into evening, but already hopeless surrender assaulted the young yet old woman's frazzled nerves. Tension was building in every muscle, a pressure in her head beating against her skull as if the entire cast of Riverdance was holding nonstop practice. It had slowly progressed into a painful headache as the hours of the day flew by with each futile search, setting a steady, rhythmic drum beat in the confines of her head.

She was on a downward spiral and things, from here, could only get worse. Knock on wood.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

An hour and a half later found Faye seated languidly on the cracked vinyl seat of a simple booth that lay ensconced in the corner of a deli she had happened upon. Fingers holding her prize in a dainty grip, she lifted it to her mouth. As the time and scenery had passed, Faye's depression had steeped and deepened, sinking her to low depths that would have her screaming in a fit of rage or crying miserably in the shower, where the stinging fall of water drowned at the noises of her hitching breaths and the hot, pelting droplets mingled and washed away her tears.

However, before deciding upon one of the two options, a third presented itself in the form of Mario's Delicatessen, and she had shelled out a few of her meager woolongs to indulge in the sweetest ambrosia, known for its euphoric and aphrodisiac effects: chocolate. More precisely, a double-Dutch-fudge homemade cupcake twice the size of her fist. She had ordered it alongside a tall glass of cold skim milk, which now stood nearly drained of its ivory liquid contents, the cupcake just as diminished.

Savoring every last bittersweet, heavenly tang, Faye popped the last morsel into her mouth, licking the a smear of rich icing from her lower lip in an innocently provocative manner. Putting each stained fingertip to her lips, she sucked off the last crumb, the last dollop of fudge from each one, blissfully unaware of the wide-eyed, hard-lust stares that were fixed on her from various points in the room; in the high of her sweet drug, she had surrounded herself in an endorphin-induced bubble, utterly ignoring the world outside her booth. The salacious gazes of the male staff and customers were completely lost on the exotic, violet-tressed vixen, whose attention span was focused on the all-consuming voluptuous flavor on her scarlet lips.

A satisfied, deep sigh passed through her mouth, the corners curving upwards in a childishly mischievous grin. "Mmm… _much_ better." Downing the last drops of milk from the still-cool glass, Faye stood from her seat, one corner of her lips turning down in detestation when the hideous vinyl stuck to the backs of her thighs.

Standing in a fluid, catty movement, she smoothed out the wrinkles in her shirt and skirt, hips swaying in a pronounced, happy swagger from her refreshing excursion as she sauntered her way towards the door.

Pushing the door halfway open, her bubble popped at the tinkling of the bell over the door, and she finally noticed the sweaty-palmed, panting occupants of the deli, cast a glare and scowl over her shoulder, and exited, the smile sliding back into place- for however long the mercurial hand of Fate allowed it to remain.

Stilettos clicking a quiet beat on the pavement, Faye meandered along the sidewalk of Valhalla Avenue, a wonderful, classy retreat secreted away in the mazes of Avalon slummery that she had been surprised to locate on her misguided tour out of Uglytown. As she passed under the brightly-lit, chummy orange streetlights and watched one after another quaint, homey little shops fall behind her steady, leisurely pace, she was nostalgically reminiscent of what the city back when she had been young was like, on Earth, when everything was smiles and sunshine. It was sweetly saddening, but not dramatically depressing as the ghetto she had beat a retreat from. It seemed one of those places where one might pretend that sadness and pain and ugly things didn't exist, that nobody ever got hurt, that blood didn't stain anyone's hands and no one had to steal or fight to survive.

It was a beautiful, exquisitely spun illusion, a hallucination that didn't entirely succeed in masking the hideous true face that lay just around the corner.

And how apt that, in this pretty place of a warm, false sense of security, the hideous face would appear in the guise of a thug and his friends who, quite literally, lay in wait just around the next corner.

Faye rounded the corner, eyes downcast and brow furrowed as she rummaged in her pocket for her lighter, the packet of Cowboys in her other hand. As she had turned off Valhalla street, the comforting glow of the streetlights had all but disappeared, predictably, yet she still stopped short as she felt the shadow as it fell over her, from the root of each heliotrope strand of hair to the sharp toes of her boots. Lifting her wine-colored head, pushing a few stray locks behind one ear in an innocent gesture, she smiled impishly, a quixotic gleam in her beryl hues.

Ah… some action. As sweetly satisfying as the chocolate treat had been, nothing could sate the bloodlusty beast chained deep within like an old fashioned, good old spot of violence.

"Hello, boys," she greeted, voice curiously smirking and unreadable. She allowed her eyes to travel slowly over each of them, assessing, as they were so obviously busy doing to her. However, she quite seriously doubted they were rating her for the same reason she examined them.

There were four of them, the one in front most evidently the ringleader, his stubbly lower face broken in a crooked, toothy grin like a yellow cob of corn. His hair was died an extravagant cerulean, shaved to a thin coat of fuzz on the left half of his skull and long and well-groomed on the right, falling to mid-ear, where a gaudy gold stud glinted. He had narrow blue eyes that glittered like a pair of marbles, a little too far apart from either side of his wide, hooked nose. Once upon a time, he might have been roguishly handsome, or a grungily alluring rock-star type, but in this day and age, that was a much harder look to pull off and his pockmarked skin and many-times broken nose ruined whatever slim chance he might have once held. He had a fairly impressive build, arms sporting massive biceps bared by the tight, sleeveless cobalt cut-off tee he wore, which also revealed an up-and-coming six-pack. His faded blue jeans were worn, with frayed hems and holes in the knees.

The man to his left had the same physical status, though a nicer appearance. He had a straight nose and clean-shaven, unblemished face, round, well-set eyes that exhibited a vibrant, acidic green that could only come from expensive surgery or contacts. A thin, straight mouth accented the stone-cold stoicism his face and unusual eyes cleanly portrayed. His head was shaven bald, all save a curly, verdant forelock that bounced against his high forehead as he inclined his head from one side to the other, studying his prey acutely. His chest was bare except for the vest that stretched over his muscular pectorals, a green so deep it shone almost black. His pants were corduroy material of the same shade as his vest.

The third was much less memorable, golden-eyed with a shaggy blonde head, dressed in a saffron muscle shirt and silk pants. He was the thinnest of the group, full mouth alternating between leering and scowling every few seconds.

The fourth had a haircut like some sort of priest or monk, straight bangs over bushy dark brows and cut the same at his shoulders. His skin was flawless and milky-white as her own ivory complexion, with androgynously beautiful features. He wore a silk-button up with the sleeves torn off and a sash rather than a belt held up his baggy cargoes. His monochrome of choice was purple, amethyst eyes slitted in a very creepy fashion locked to hers, his insanely beguiling, ever-present grin edging her nerves.

Okay, the pretty boy in purple was going down first. That silently mocking smile was starting to afflict her good humor.

After the mutual evaluation had been completed, the leader smiled lecherously at her and took a step forward, one hand extended towards her in a parody of gentlemanly fashion. "Hullo, Pretty Miss. You out for a bit of fun?"

Faye's answering grin was maliciously gleeful, teeth momentarily catching her lower lip in a seductive implication. "Actually, yes I am. And I think you can help me." They all smiled, though the Adonis in green only managed a half-quirked smirk. Her voice was a low purr as she continued, almost closing the distance between Little Boy Blue and herself with a swaying hip and forthplaced boot. "Actually, I do have one question…"

"Yeah?" Blue's gravelly, imitation British voice was husky already, drawing up a girlish giggle that she suppressed willfully in her throat. This would be all too easy. After all, none of them were even packing heat, and she could feel the reassuring hard edge of her Glock's barrel against her upper ribcage, concealed snugly inside the suit jacket's inner pocket. Not that she would be needing her gun, but it was always a comforting presence.

Pulling back suddenly, flicking Blue's chin with a long fingernail as she moved away. Faye snorted derisively and gestured to the quartet, eyes and voice sarcastic. "Who the hell are you supposed to be, the Rainbow Club?"

Smiles faded, fists were raised, growls issued, switchblades pulled. Apparently, this particular group of ruffians was particularly sensitive of their particular color theme. Faye grinned and felt like clapping. "Oh, did I insult you? Whoops, guess you'll hafta just kick my ass now, huh?" Now she really did laugh, raising her own hands into loose fists, executing a dance of fancy footwork she had picked up from watching Spike on bounty hunts. "Come on, four to one seems fair enough. Can't you big strong boys take care of one little girl?"

"Like hell we can't!" Roared Yellow Boy, rushing at her with his six-inch blade extended.

And so the shuffle began.

Easily sidestepping, Yellow's senseless lunge, she clotheslined him, grinning wildly as her arm impacted his gut. He slumped to the ground breathlessly as she twirled on one thin heel, intercepting the punch Blue had aimed for her head and knocking his fist aside, bringing her own into an uppercut. His teeth cracked together and bit into his tongue, warm, sticky blood mingling with saliva in streams down his chin. As his head was still recoiling, she executed a swift sidekick to his chest, Stiletto heel stabbing his sternum, the sound of fracturing bone and his gasping cry of pain music in her ears. Blue was sent flying backwards, his body striking a brick building, the back of his skull cracking loudly against the wall, crumpling to the ground and folding in on himself, unconscious.

…Take another shot boy

Now I'm open

Nobody knows a liar

You can never break me

I'm already broken

Nobody knows a liar

Like I do

So absorbed in her scuffle with Blue, she had momentarily forgotten Yellow, who had by then found his second wind and sprang to his feet behind her. Faye frowned and whirled, fists raised, but too late. Yellow caught her before she could land a blow, one bony appendage snaking around her waist and the other locking around her shoulders and collarbone, pulling her snug against his emaciated, short frame.

His lack of weight and height worked to her advantage and she threw her weight forward, bending at the waist, simultaneously grabbing hold of the offending arms and jerking them from her body, his fingernails digging long scratches across her bared flesh, and catching the back of her jacket collar. A small, outraged cry escaped her mouth as she threw him forward, releasing his arms as she realized he had a grip on her jacket. The fabric wrenched at her shoulders, nearly pulling them out of socket before she held her arms out to slip from the sleeves.

Yellow struck the rough cement of the sidewalk soundly and slid, his flesh scraping, tearing and bleeding as it met resistance on the ground; her jacket was still gripped in his hand, her Glock still in the inside breast pocket. "Dammit!" she screeched. She _liked_ that jacket. And most importantly, he had her gun!

Sugar, my love, they have done you wrong

Held ou down and kept you from creating

Everything you do takes too long

So keep in my heart something precious

Never learn to be malicious

Yellow began to staggeringly raise himself to his hands and knees, the entire left side of his face shredded to bloody ribbons. At that sight, Faye grinned, but was no less incensed. She stalked quickly over to him, long legs easily covering the distance. His head snapped around as his eyes widened in anger and a little fear at her. She smiled sweetly down at him, grabbed a fistful of greasy blonde hair at the back of his head and jerked him roughly to a kneeling position, brought her leg back and swung the knife-edge of her foot into his ribs, satisfied when a spat of blood expulsed from his mouth, staining his teeth pink and dribbling down his chin. Giving a derisive, inarticulate sound, she dropped him unceremoniously to the sidewalk again, and this time he did not get back up.

She picked up her suit jacket, frowned at its state, and slipped it on. It would need a good wash later, but it was still serviceable. Turning towards the remaining two chromatic playboys, her ruby smile faltered at what she was met with.

Take another shot boy

Now I'm open

Nobody knows a liar

You can never break me

I'm already broken

Nobody knows a liar

Like I do…[2]

Green and Purple stood side by side, Purple still with that cheeky grin and Green with a frigid smirk on daunting lips. They reminded her of something, something she shivered to think about, something that sent a cold dagger of fear stabbing through her chest. She didn't know anything about this little gang, hadn't cared, only wanted a fun brawl. Blue and Yellow had been overconfident amateurs, all too easy to handle. However, even from the initial observation, she had on some primal level acknowledged that the scene did not mesh, that something didn't quite fit. Now she knew why.

Green and Purple were by no means amateurs. Their stances were professional and their demeanors cool and impenetrable. They held a nebulous confidence that the other two members of the ragtag color guard had lacked, and the way the two fit like yin and yang, both with a deadly air and all-concealing mask, was more than vaguely reminiscent of a pair she had otherwise dealt with, but not on these circumstances. No, then, they had been fighting each other. And now both of them were dead at the other's hands.

A calculating numbness swept over Faye, pushing aside her growing unease and tingling prick of fear; the beast was unleashed. But, even so, did she really stand a chance against a pair that reminded her so much of _them_?

__

Only way to know is to find out, replied a cold, detached reasoning in the back confines of her mind. Switching her stance, she stood straight, one foot placed slightly behind her, the majority of her weight on it. The other foot was in front of her, firmly placed, but in a flexible position, ready to change places or follow command at any second. It was defensive in nature, but it also braced her weight for recoil in the event that she should draw and fire the Glock. Also, it gave her the option of springing forward for a surprise offensive, her forward left foot prepared to balance the weight exchange on the precarious heels of her boots.

Purple and Green were in similar stances, theirs somewhat reversed, Green's offensive and defensive at once, Purple positioning his body in a purely attack posture.

Faye licked her lips in grim anticipation, the situation violently transforming from an enjoyable altercation into an intimidating confrontation within moments. Perspiration beaded on her brow as she stood, edgily awaiting one of her opponent's assaults.

Purple's eyes opened wide in a frightening, ghoulish expression just before he sprang towards her on a burst of speed and strength. He was in her personal space before she knew it, feinting left, right, right, left again, then aiming a kick straight for her face. Emerald eyes showed white all around as she perceived the impending strike and she moved on cunning, instinct and stamina, dropping to the cement and bracing her weight on the newly scraped heels of her hands, lashing out with a long, palely toned leg, right calf connecting with Purple's corresponding ankle in a powerful arc, sweeping the support from under him and springing up and back as he came crashing towards the cement.

Before the violet man's body even impacted, his partner was rushing forward to fill in, a knuckled, solid fist lashing towards her face as she was only just coming out of her crouch. She twisted so that the hit missed its original target, her nose, but not enough. A weak cry tore from her lips in pain as Green's clenched hand connected viciously with her left shoulder, the stern bones of his knuckles and fingers paralleling the unforgiving density of a marble brick. The small cry became a passionately agonized shout as she felt the tearing, horribly wrenching popping sensation as her arms was forced brutally from its socket.

A moment later, she was knocked soundly to the ground as Green used her own tricks against her, swinging out a powerful calf to snatch her legs from beneath her. When her eyes slit open a half-second later, she found the two assailants standing above her, Green's face dispassionately expressionless and Purple's visage marked by a satisfied, demeaning smirk.

Faye's jaw set firmly, lower lip jutting in stubborn determination as she clutched her limp left arm and staggered backwards and to her feet. The damned idiots were toying with her the whole time. Blue and Yellow had been the bait, the deliberately ineffectual booby traps intended to do no more than wear her down to a nice, slow and easy pace so that they could enjoy every minute of her beating. She spoke to them the first time, deciding she could at least lessen their egotistical fun by letting them in on the fact that she'd figured them out, if a bit belatedly. "You used your own comrades as cannon fodder. Disgusting. Only the weak use others to protect themselves."

Green scowled and lifted his chin arrogantly, a warning burning in his acidic eyes. She suppressed a tremor at how closely his expression, the look in his eyes, the murderous and uncaring aura resembled Vicious'.

Purple sneered at her, none the worse for wear after his little tumble. "Only stupid little girls pick fights that will kill them. Of course…" He took a step towards her, his eyes slowly roving her form, amethystine irises clinging to the places he liked best. "We could have a little fun with her first, don't you think? After all, business and pleasure, you know."

Green inelegantly rolled his eyes at his partner. "Do what you want with her. She's not my type."

Mistake number one: Ignoring her in favor of conversing between themselves. Mistake number two: Insulting her.

Faye's fist shot forward with as much speed and strength as she could summon, her unhinged left shoulder screaming in limp torment with every jarring movement. Despite the pain, a smug, self-satisfied smirk curled her lips as her knuckles collided shatteringly with Green's left cheekbone in a flawless right hook, staggering his tall form back a few hopeful steps.

Green swore vividly, clutching a hand to his swollen and throbbing face, acid eyes burning at her from between long fingers. Purple had turned to her, smile vanishing in favor of a frightening glower, lips pulling back as he loosed a bestial snarl. His wolfish purple eyes narrowed to savage slits and he lifted his arms to lunge at her, but a well-placed, heavy boot buried in his abdomen, knocking the wind from his lungs viciously.

As the boot drew away, outstretched arms that had been poised to do damage came down and wrapped around Purple's midsection, who promptly fell to his knees, eyes wide and pained as his mouth gaped in breathless, wordless outrage.

Faye's own eyes were round and large in shock and puzzlement, mauve strands of silk momentarily blinding her as her neck swiveled in a serpentine movement, panicking emeralds desperately seeking out the owner of that steel-toed black boot and strong, muscular, denim-clad leg.

As her right hand raked the errant curtain of violet back behind one ear, her eyes alighted on the mystery person who had come to her rescue. In her sudden tunnel vision stood a man more beautiful than most women she had known, longish, thick hair of a chocolate tincture secured with a leather thong at the nape of a slender neck, several wayward dark locks escaping the tie and obscuring his eyes. However, the limited view of his visage revealed handsome features; an angular face and straight, thin nose, high, planed cheekbones and a confidently smirking mouth that sent a delightful shiver up her spine. He was tall, as alpine as Green, who stood as incredulous and staring as Faye. The newcomer's build was a bit less than the two Faye had been fighting, though despite his slim appearance, she could tell that beneath the smooth, tanned canvas of his flesh, he was all whipcord and muscle, sinewy body lending him the undisguised grace of a cat, a grace she had only heretofore seen possessed by Spike. His ensemble was assembled of a pair of low-cut jeans, wonderfully snug in the rear and over his thighs, and a plain black shirt mostly concealed beneath a blue cotton jacket.

She sucked in a breath to ask who he was- most likely with a few choice words and insults inserted- but Green beat her to it.

"Who the fuck are you?"

Mr. Suave shrugged his shoulders, grinning mischievously at the other still-upright man. "Who knows? Maybe I'm a bounty hunter, maybe I'm her boyfriend,"- here, he thumbed over his shoulder at Faye, who flushed and sniffed indignantly- "and maybe I'm just a smartass busybody who doesn't like the way you operate."

Faye only blinked, but the next moment, he was directly in Green's face with a glittering grin, revealing a pair of cobalt eyes, a knife he had seemed to pull from thin air shoved against Green's jugular. "Or maybe I just really hate White Tigers."

"White Tigers," Faye's face scrunched for a moment thoughtfully, then widened dramatically, something strange scribing over her features. "They're Syndicate?!" She stalked towards the man, whose blade was still pressed to the scowling and sweating Green's throat, absently kicking the slowly rising Purple in the ribs as she passed.

The man didn't even look at her, ice eyes locked cooly to Green's acid ones. "Yep. And, since they so aptly fit the descriptions, I'm guessing they're the White Tiger's current darling pair, Venom and Poison," he replied, first indicating the mafia boy he held hostage and then his partner, who had slumped to the ground again. At last, he glanced down at the sidewalk cement, grinning as he noted the unconscious Blue and Yellow. "And those must be their new pets. Nice work, Miss."

Faye pretended she wasn't noticing the smooth, rich tenor tones of his voice, oddly familiar, and stubbornly ignored the kick in her heartbeat. No way in Hell was she becoming attracted to this stranger. She was Faye Valentine, the Ice Bitch; nobody got to her… well, at least not so fast. "Yeah, unfortunately I was so busy playing with them that I didn't realize they were just frontmen for Bastard A and B." Her eyes narrowed as she mentally put herself on the defensive, knowing she shouldn't and couldn't trust this interloper. "You move like a Syndicate brat yourself; how am I to know you're not their third?"

Finally, the Prussian hues rested on her face, a sincere smile softening his lips. "You don't. And that's half the fun, right?" Still looking at her, his hand flashed and, with a flick of one wrist, he slammed the hilt of his knife into the back of Green's- Venom's- skull and released the front of his vest, letting the unconscious deadweight to the waiting embrace of the pavement. He then strode casually to Purple- Poison- and cracked the side of his foot against Poison's skull, helping him on his steep descent into oblivion.

Faye had wrapped her uninjured arm around her waist, a gesture that made her look uncertain and insecure, vulnerable, but actually was deliciously deceptive as, hidden within the confines of her suit jacket, her fingers brushed the cold, hard edge of the Glock's grip. She was fully prepared to hurt or kill this man if he turned out to be something other than the knight in shining armor he feigned.

As if sensing that she was thinking about him, he turned to her, his smile fading into a slight, one-sided frown as his eyes skittered over her frame, assessing the damages she had cultivated and numerous scrapes and bruises she had acquired in her evening jaunt. When those entrancing, heart-stirring blue eyes fell on her left arm, his mouth painted a scowl and he took a step forward.

Faye's lips parted involuntarily, fear whispering in her head as she was disturbingly sure her heart skipped a beat.

He entered her body sphere and came within a few short inches of her, and Faye felt her frame freeze, knees locking and the fingers of her right hand digging into her side. She couldn't move an inch as he more closely examined her, his breath a warm puff on her forehead, and she wasn't entirely certain she wanted to.

However, reality came crashing in on the surreal setting in a clamoring rush as he reached out, firmly grasped her limp appendage at mid-forearm and fingers curling around her bicep, lifting it, straightening it, and, with a cracking, popping, wrenching more painful than the first time, forcefully relocated her shoulder.

To her credit, Faye did not whimper, she did not cry, she did not whine; she screamed.

A loud but short shout flew unwillingly from between previously clenched teeth, making the man wince.

"You bastard!" Faye's right hand snapped out from beneath her jacket, fingers curled like vicious claws and grappled the man's shirtfront and jerking him down a bit to her eye level. Infuriatingly, his eyes held mirth and a bit of regret.

"Sorry, I could dislocate it again if you'd like it back the way it was."

Not enjoying his humor, Faye's eyes narrowed and she released his shirt, which soft and thin under her fingers, his chest firm and warm beneath the layer of cloth. Angry as much with herself as with him, she shoved at his shoulders and forced him to take a few steps back, panicking at how his proximity affected her.

"Sorry, sorry," he mumbled smoothly, grin resurfacing and faltering again, his eyes on her upper chest and shoulders, and that was when she realized that the raw, throbbing, angry red lines etched in the flesh there were bleeding.

"Oh." It didn't surprise her or bother her much, but she was pretty peeved that her silk shirt had been mangled _and_ bloodstained because that little rat-faced thug. She shot a sullen glare at the prone body of Yellow, her eyes unwillingly drawn back to the blue pair fixed to her face seriously.

"Come on, let's get you to my apartment. You can get cleaned up there, and I'm a little first-aid knowledgeable."

Faye almost smirked, knowing she was likely more competent at bandaging and fixing people up than he was. What, with having to turn Spike into a living mummy after every other bounty, somebody on that damned ship had to play nurse. And to be honest, Jet's health-related skills sucked; after all, she _had_ eaten his so-called food. And she didn't even want to imagine the damage Ed would do.

She came back to herself, realized the man was still staring at her and awaiting a response. She passed it off as if she had been considering the offer, noted the stubborn, determined glint in his eyes she was so used to seeing in the mirror, and sighed melodramatically. "You're not going to give up until I say 'yes', are you?"

"Damned straight." His devil-may-cry smile reappeared and she ignored his proffered hand in favor of walking beside him as he started in the direction of his alleged apartment, eyes fixed ahead and soft smile molded to his mouth as his long legs carried him forward, hands buried in the pockets of his jacket.

Faye lengthened her stride a little to keep his pace, not willing to fall behind or move ahead, also a need to not let him get too far away burning illogically in her chest, commanding the gait of her legs and rate of her feet.

As they went along their way, comfortably blanketed by a thick, unconstrained silence, she snuck glances at his profile, only then noticing how oddly familiar he seemed, as if she had seen him somewhere, and recently, but couldn't put her finger on where. Her lips pursed in concentration as she continued to cast covert glimpses at him through her lashes, furtively shuffling through her still-fresh memories, trying to place this man with his magnetic air, face that should be chiseled in Roman marble, hypnotic voice and feline reflexes.

__

A nicotine-hazed room, sweet addiction inhaling into her lungs, air conditioner plummeting to arctic degrees chilling her flesh, the caustic, biting flavor of alcohol on her tongue, and the achingly sweet strains of a well-played acoustic guitar caressing her audile sense…

Faye's cat-green eyes enlarged, pupils dilating and lips parting as the memory struck a resonating chord… _The guitar player from the Black Chapel_.

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And there's no holding me back

I'm not driven by fear

I'm just driven by anger

And you're under attack

You're just climbing up slowly

I'm the one and only, I

__

The taste, the waste, the lie

The stumble in your mind

The fear, the hope inside

If it- if it-

But whatever you need

Ever you got

Ever you want

I'll take back again

Whatever you need

Ever you got

Ever you want

__

I'll take back again…[3]

Faye shrugged out her jacket and folded it over her forearm, not willing to have her Glock out of reach. She surveyed the interior of the small, one-bedroom apartment critically as guitar-guy shut the door behind her, uneasily noting the soft _click_ as the deadbolt slid into place.

For a one-room, it was a cozy, spacious suite, located just on the corner of Valhalla and Sodom Street, the block on which all the whorehouses and her own less-than-lovely room and board were, though she'd had no idea Valhalla Avenue so much as existed until that evening.

Her eyes wandered over the simple yet elegant furniture, the theme a mix of glossy mahogany woods, the color scheme composed of lush, forest greens, rich, deep crimsons and vibrant saffron. Expansive, soft-looking Oriental rugs sprawled over the beautifully polished hardwood floors, a scatter of matching, small end tables, armchairs, couches and loveseats arranged in a hit-or-miss fashion, the only real-point seeming to be the axis of the sphere of inspired chaos a low, glass-plate coffee table. Silk curtains decorated the single bay window, settling graceful folds around the inset window seat, adorned by a silk cushion of carmine matching the drapes.

There were three doorways, excluding the kitchen, ranged about the room, on the far wall a small door that looked as if lead to a coat closet, one very near the kitchen doorway that must conceal the bathroom, and the last stood alone on the wall to the left of the front door, closed and most likely shuttering a bedroom that was just as plush as the foyer.

Finally, Faye looked over her shoulder at her host, who had been watching her observe his living space with a half smirk. One corner of her own lips seemed to turn down in an inverted answer, the other corner plunging alike when she saw the small white box with the distinctive red cross in his hands. Deciding to stall- she didn't really want him touching her; she couldn't trust her own reactions, let alone his- she swept a hand through the air, vaguely gesturing to indicate his apartment. "Ritzy place. Guitar gigs must pay very well."

He snorted a half laugh, one hand shoving through his hair, which was now loosed to fall about his cheekbones and shoulders. Her fingers itched to push a few locks behind his ear, and she was appalled to find the desire in her mind.

"So you finally figured me out, huh? I was starting to wonder if you were slow or just really bad with faces. I knew who you were the moment I saw you fighting those jackasses."

Faye felt a smirk threaten her features and forced it to become a halfhearted scowl. "If you recall, I never saw your face. You were hunchbacked over your guitar." Damn. This guy was _really_ getting to her, and she hadn't even learned his name yet. Fine, she would just have to play the same roll to him that she always had to Spike: an uncaring, insensitive, whiny, petulant shrew.

"Like I said, really bad with faces."

She opened her mouth to volley a biting retort, but a funny thought struck her dumb. It always seemed to happen that, should she be interrupted in a brawl, a musician was always butting his fists in. Another though hit her, rather like a brick, bittersweet and ironic, and a little sad. However, she had to ask, the curiosity was morbid, but irresistible. "Tell me, do you have any woman parts under those clothes?"

Obviously, he had not been expecting a response anything like _that_. A sort of what-the-hell expression crossed his face quickly, reminding her, almost, of those unique, Spike-trademarked blanches whenever he tasted one of his own or Jet's new concoctions. Then his face settled into a look of amusement and perturbance, brows drawn and mouth oddly quirked. "Um, no?" There was stifled laughter in his tone and a suppressed smile in his cyan eyes.

Faye felt oddly relieved for a moment, smiling slightly, then wiping it away. "Good." Feeling she'd better change the awkward subject before questions were asked, she held out her hand demandingly. "Now are you going to give me that First-Aid kit or not?"

"No," he began, lifting the box again and placing a hand on her stomach, startling her enough so that he could steer her to the couch and force her to be seated upon the overstuffed cushions. Ignoring her as she slapped his hand away angrily, He popped open the lid of the box and began to produce several rolls of gauze. "Now, we'll need to make a sling for that arm and-"

Faye interrupted with a captious snort. "Like hell. My arm works fine; nothing a good strong dose of Tylenol won't cure. As for everything else," she snatched the bandages, tape and clips from his loaded hands, stood with an all-too sweet smile and slid around him before he could protest. "I am perfectly capable of fixing myself up."

Omitting his objections, she slid into the room she had correctly assumed to be the bathroom, flicked on the light, and leaned heavily upon the closed door, breath creating little, fast-fading puff marks on the mirror.

_What is this? What is going on? How can someone I don't even know affect me like this? It doesn't make any sense. I don't like this. It's too much like-_

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Finis (until next time)

*[1] This Evil World – Gob

**[2] Liar – Tonic

***[3] Whatever – Our Lady Peace

Author's note: Okay, first things first, The Apology. I know I said that this chapter wouldn't take long… but to be completely honest, I never really expected to get any reviews for the first chapter, at least not for a long while, so I figured I would definitely have this chapter done before anybody noticed a lack of updating. And besides, I keep getting grounded from the computer or shipped off to the boondocks of some state or another (Labor Day weekend was spent in THE most boring place on Earth, Mississippi- no where near anything civilized like Biloxi or ANYPLACE; the nearest Wal-Mart was twenty minutes away, the nearest McDonald's twenty more than THAT- and they had no computer, and the most fun options were playing dominoes with grandparents and walking up and down the driveway), so I haven't had a lot of opportunity to get this written. But no longer! I present to you Chapter Two: Blues and Hard Rock! And it's fifteen pages long! ^^ Whee! *calms down* … Um, yeah, *cough* right. Anyways, secondly… WOW. That was my bug-eyed, slack-jawed reaction when I returned from Mississippi to find SIX reviews for this one chapter alone, and two new ones for my oneshot, Are You Happy Now. You guys made my day, and I mean that. All your reviews were so wonderful and inspiring, really. J Lol, and no, Are You Happy Now is not a prelude or prologue for Tragic Women. No, they are two very different ideas, and I'm happy to say that this one involves a lot more than the oneshot. Oh, and you better be happy! My beta reader and reviewers alike were already predicting the return of guitar-man, so (even though I'd planned for it anyways ;p) I absolutely HAD to bring him back. And, be honest, how many of you were hoping that steel-toed boot belonged to Spike? *snorts* My Beta Reader wanted it to be him so bad, she started ranting that Spike could have died and grown out his hair and used contacts. Stretching much? I think so. And please, please, pleasepleaseplease, if you would, give specific feedback on the action sequences, because I'm pretty sure I suck at them and this is my first fic with REAL action. I really need to know where I stand on this, okay? Also, I promise that there will be more about the other CB stars in the next chapter; it won't be only about Faye for too long. I just need to do some background and plot building in these first few chapters, ok? Tanks. *winks and blows kisses* Latazz!

P.S. There's a cameo appearance in here, somebody who belongs in my "on hiatus" fic, Happenstance. Their character and garb were only slightly changed due to necessity, but if anybody can pick him or her out, I'll give them an honorable mention in the next Author's note, and that's a promise!

B.R.N. (Beta Reader Note): Yeah, yeah, yeah. So what if I wanted Spike to come back? Don't we all? If you don't know who I am, I'm the author's beta reader. Duh! I am also the beta reader from Happenstance (which if you haven't read that yet, READ IT or I will come after you with a water gun and make you wish that you had braved hell rather than incur my wrath!). Btw, is anyone else excited about the return of Mr. Mysterious? Goodness I know I wanted him to come back. So exciting! Also, if you _do_ read this, you had better review! It inspires the author and it satisfies my curiosity – and most likely the curiosity of the author's other fans out there. So… READ AND REVIEW! You won't regret it. And, I'll leave with a few words from the greatest philosopher of all time… GIR! "Can I be a dog-mongoose?" Ciao!


	3. Centerstage Gypsy

Disclaimer: Do I actually have to do this a THIRD time? They're not mine, I promise! (Well, okay, guitar-guy's mine, not that _he_ believes it… *grumbles and kicks her toe in the dirt*) Although… *grins* It'd be nice to borrow Vicious for a while… *grins widely, insanity in her eyes* (hinthint, nudgenudge)

AN: So sorry for those of you who (greatly mistakenly) thought this fic was rated a nice, safe G. HA! DAMN YOU, FF.NET!!! DAMN YOU!!! *shakes pink fuzzy slipper* Pfft, this is the third time I've had to fix the rating… it's up to PG-13 now, and if that makes me lose any readers… well, damn, that sucks, but that's the way the ball bou… um. Nevermind. ^^; Too many sexual innuendoes in that one… Anyways, thanks goes out to Aniiston for pointing out that ff.net had still ignored my rating upping. And to warn you, in a chapter or two, this story will more likely than not be once again upgraded- to R. That was the originally intended rating but hey, there it is. That's just to warn you all so you know where to look for me when I change it. Thanks and more from our sponsors (me) later! Enjoy! 

Chapter Three: Centerstage Gypsy

…But some things in this world, man, they don't make sense

And some things you don't need until they leave you

Then they're the things that you miss

You say baby, baby, baby, when all your love is gone

Who will save me from all I'm up against out in this world

Maybe, maybe, maybe you'll find something that's enough to keep you

But if the bright lights don't receive you

You should turn yourself around and come on home

Let that city take you in

(Come on home)

Let that city spit you out

(Come on home)

Let that city take you down, yeah

For god's sakes turn around!

Baby, baby, baby, when all your love is gone

Who will save me from all I'm up against out in this world

Maybe, maybe, maybe you'll find something that's enough to keep you

But if the bright lights don't receive you, yeah

Turn yourself around and come on home!…[1]

Faye lay in her bed, scratching uncomfortably at the sling that held her left arm captive. Please. Like she really needed a _sling_. She'd had much worse than a dis-and-relocated shoulder before, it wasn't like she couldn't handle it. But _nooo_, musician-boy had to go all General Hospital on her broke ass as soon as she popped out of the bathroom and baby her every scrape, bump, bruise and scratch. What the hell was he, her mother? How _annoying_.

_Although… it was kind of nice. Somebody hovering over me for once, not vice versa. This time, somebody cared about _me_…_

Faye rolled her eyes at her own thoughts, carefully turning over beneath the sheets, more sore from the guitar player's "helpful" ministrations than from the actual wounds. The man had to be some sort of sadist, the way he wielded peroxide and bandages like a trained professional. Hell, he was probably a doctor once, or a med school dropout. Physicians, dentists, you name it, they were all a horde of sadistic bastards; hell, all you had to do was wonder why they called what they did "practice". _Practice?_ So, what, patients were just living, breathing test dummies? Well if that were the case, when the fuck were the little sonuvabitches gonna get it _right_?

Vaguely, she reflected to herself that her thoughts had strayed into spiraling threads of incoherent mental babble, and she wondered when and why she had deviated from… whatever the hell she'd been thinking about before getting so entangled in her rant.

_Hmmm… well, at least he recognized the medical applications of whiskey… as long as your patient is slinging back some liquor, they don't have time between gulps to complain… oh wait… yeah, that's right, that explains it… I'm drunk… Heh._

A small, ironically bitter half-smile curved one corner of her mouth as she reached out and touched that warm, comforting buzz flowing sluggishly in her veins, wrapping it around her like a dryer-fresh blanket and snuggling deep into the cozy feeling. She knew the sensation wouldn't last until morning, which was only all the more reason to enjoy her inebriation before the hangover brought on by dawn.

As her eyes were sliding slowly, heavily closed, a miscellaneous, completely unbidden thought sifted to the hazy, dying spotlight in her alcohol-diluted mind. _I wonder what his name is…_

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Marcus yawned as he leaned back in his chair, stretching his arms as far above his head as he could, rolling his shoulders and cracking his neck from side to side, hoping to get the kinks out. "Man, they don't pay us enough for this…"

"I hear ya man, graveyard shift sucks ass." Marcus's colleague and sole companion for this evening's term, Andrew, set down a styrofoam cup of coffee on the console in front of Marcus, cradling his own in his hands like a sort of Holy Grail.

Marcus tipped his head in thanks and agreement, sipping slowly at the scalding, deliciously bitter brew. Before this job, he had hated coffee with a passion, and now it was a nightly necessity to keep him awake, and he drank it strong and black. Working for the docking company on Avalon didn't pay a whole lot, and despite the satellite-city's robust nightlife, there was hardly any incoming traffic at night. And there was even more rarely outgoing. Ever. He liked to think of the little Sinner's Valley as a roach motel; "They check in, but they don't check out." And it was true. People came here to run away, or to find a place to hide. They ran here and found a society that was all about secrecy and lies, so they never left. Dockers' jobs were hardly what one would call profitable or auspicious in a place like this.

Marcus had been staring blearily at the little blinking red light for some time, contemplating the ups and downs of his occupation, before he actually registered the little beacon. When his hazy, yet-to-be-caffeinated brain finally did take the hint, he swore fervently and shot up in his chair, nearly spilling scalding coffee into his lap. "Shit. Um, yes, welcome to Skiff's Docking. How may I help you?" He mashed the button for visual link-up, nearly jamming his clumsy finger in the process. However, it was a wasted effort as all that the screen produced was a fuzzed green-blue image of vaguely human configuration, static overlaying the screen like a thick flurry of crackling snow. "Are you requesting clearance to dock, Sir, ah, Ma'am?…"

"Sir. Well, well, you boys are awfully slow on the uptake tonight. Veeery professional, I especially loved the profanity. One too many donuts?" The voice was nerve-grindingly smug, the kind that seemed like it would have a permanently sardonic smirk attached. Smooth tenor tones were laced with bored self-confidence as the man plunged on, heedless of the docker's rising ire. "Yes, I want in. What, you thought I'd prefer to hang out here in space all night?"

Marcus shot Andrew a glare as the other man turned on the radio and raised the volume a few decibels, some ancient song pouring forth from the speakers. "I wear my sunglasses at night so I can, so I can…"

There was an audibly condescending snort from the other end of the connection, probably in tandem with a sarcastic roll of the smartass's eyes.

Marcus scowled uselessly at the screen, knowing that his image was just as fuzzy on the opposite end of the link and not particularly caring. "You'll need to scan the appropriate credits through first, Sir."

The voice came in a lazy, patronizing drawl. "Already been done."

Squinting down at the tiny left-hand screen of statistics, he noted with contrition that it was as the other had said. "Um, yes, I see." He entered the correct codes into the outdated mainframe. "You may proceed through Dock 4 and pick up your verification card from the receptionist on your way out. Enjoy your stay on Avalon."

There was a moment of silence through which Andrew's annoying music pervaded, droning, "I wear my sunglasses at night, I wear my sunglasses at night, I wear my sunglasses at night…"[2]

Just when Marcus began to think the man had fallen asleep or left, that aggravatingly cocky, level voice broke through the repetitive lyrics. "Whatever. I'm sick of this song…"

And the connection was cut.

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The room was potent with the overpowering bouquet of cheap perfume and even cheaper alcohol, the occasional drift of nicotine laden breath sparking a spasmodic twitch of fingers or wetting of scarlet lips. Small, capable hands reached several times into the pockets of a beaten suit jacket, nimble fingers searching and questing in the folds and creases of the fabric for one, just one measly little–

_Goddammit._

Faye needed a fix. Apparently, sometime during her friendly little throwdown the night before, her handheld oasis had gotten away from her, lost. Granted, the pack of Cowboys had been a cheap, bland brand of cigarettes, but they were _cigarettes_, and her one and only pack. She was nowhere near going through withdrawal, but stress had been weighing her down the moment she was unwillingly coughed up out of oblivion and into the waking world of sensory overload, bereft without a single cancer stick to her name and temporarily robbed of the sex appeal that could bum her one. Dammit, she was never going to drink again.

Faye sighed, picking at the growing hole in the knee of her faded blue jeans. She'd had them since her time on the Bebop, but everyone there had always made her out to be the company slut, so she hadn't really found the opportunity to wear them. She was breaking them out now because she didn't feel sexy today, and she needed something that would cover all of her glorious scrapes and bruises until they properly healed. Damn… she really, really needed a cigarette right about now.

"Got a light?"

The question was innocuous enough on its own, as was the proffered hand with a waiting-to-be-lit cig that hovered over her left shoulder. However, Faye could feel her strained grip on her broiling temper loosen all too easily, that telltale muscle in her brow jumping erratically. _What. The hell. Is _wrong_ with this guy?! I'm sitting here, desperately pining away for just one sweet, addiction-feeding drag and he has the balls to ask me _for a light_?! WHAT THE FUCKING HELL?!_

Lips warping into a vicious, mutated form of a smile, Faye whipped her head around in a snakelike fashion, bloodshot eyes snapping with a readied scathing barb- until, of course, they happened to latch onto the lean, svelte form of the ballsy unfortunate. At this point, her eyes widened, showing white all around, a thin band of emerald ringing dilated pupils as they caught and snagged on a pair of amused, expressional pair of slate hues.

"_You_." Her tone could only be described as venomous as her small mouth pursed into a star-shaped spot of red in her pale face. "Are you… are you _stalking_ me?" _What, didn't fuck me over bad enough last night?!_

"Oh, it's you. Wow, you look like shit," was the guitar-player's oh-so gracious comment. Faye had only once before met a man with such gall, such lack of tact. And she refused, _refused_ to let this one get to her as _he_ had. Oh no, she would bathe in his blood before he reduced her to a sniffling, bratty bimbo who couldn't even manage second place.

Her eyes narrowed to smouldering slits on him, scowling broodingly. "Yeah, thanks to _you_. What the hell kinda crackpot doctor are you, giving your patient _whiskey_? At least last night I could think straight. And I ended up sorer from your 'help' than from anything those jackasses did. I'm lucky to be walking around after your work-over."

Only when his mouth curled slowly into a lazy, mischievous smirk did she realize the way her words had come out and wished she had managed to at least _consider_ them before she just… spat them out. _Aw… shit._ She felt the faintest of blushes color her cheeks and shot up from her rickety little wooden chair, hand slamming down on the short tabletop angrily. She was acting like a petulant child, and she didn't care. She was short on cash, on nicotine, and even shorter on patience. To hell with dignity. Fuck maturity. "Oh, Jesus tapdancing Christ, you fucking perv!"

He only shrugged slowly, eyes twinkling in amusement at her little outburst. He was obviously enjoying twisting her words around on her. It allowed him to get the most out of the situation with the least effort. "Hey, you said it; I'm an innocent party in this."

"Innocent like hell."

"And you would have me believe you were a saint? Please, I _did_ see the way you fought last night." He leaned in close, much too close for Faye's comfort, breath warm and smelling of spearmint when he spoke. "You're no angel. No, you fight like a demon."

Faye found herself switching moods faster than a hormonal teenager, abruptly transforming herself from piss-bitch to deliberately mysterious vixen in the space of a heartbeat. Her mouth curled like devil's horns as she leaned even further in towards him, lips nearly brushing the skin of his exposed ear as she whispered, "You're right, I'm no angel…" She heard bitter laughter in the back of her head, recalling how everyone had always referred to a certain blonde bombshell as an angel. Faye pulled back a little, subconsciously sliding her hand up the side of her waist, riding up the soft fabric of her tight cotton black tank. "But I'm no demon, either."

He smiled, something endearingly genuine and almost infectious flirting behind that boyish grin. "So then, what are you?"

Faye's smile became a little softer, a little sadder, recalling another time, another man, another musician and the first time she'd been able to speak freely without fear in almost three years… Leaning her weight back against the table, she replied in a low, silky voice, "I'm a fairy."

The man laughed at that, a nice, sonorous laugh that echoed somewhere in her chest and trembled along her fingertips. "A fairy." He looked at her sideways, as if trying to examine her in another light, or as if a different angle could lend her wings and pointed ears. Whatever he was looking for, he seemed to find as he righted his posture, hands sliding into his pockets. "It suits you."

She found the ghost of a real smile touching at her own lips and let it serve as a her sole rejoinder. How could someone she didn't even know coax a true smile out of Poker Alice when she herself hadn't been able to dredge up such a genuine expression in ages?

"So, my little Fairy," he grinned, holding up two cigarettes this time. Ah, give a woman what she craves and you save yourself from the grasp of Hell's fires. "Got a light?"

Grinning like a child presented with candy, Faye brought out her lighter, flicking it open and touching the small flame to each waiting stick and inhaling deeply as that intoxicating, much-craved smoke began to curl from the ends.

When he offered it, she silently took hers and brought it to her lips, taking a deep, relaxing drag gratefully. Almost immediately, the tensions eased in her muscles and her fingers felt at peace with a glowing fag perched delicately between them.

By some unspoken agreement, the pair headed for the door and out into the "sunny" mid-afternoon of Avalon. Faye ran a hand through her hair, fingers sliding silently through the fine violet strands as a stream of white blew from between her lips. She placed the cigarette back in her mouth and pushed the sleeves of her suit-jacket up to her elbows, as it was safe enough to show that much without looking like an abuse victim. She was still pretty banged up, ugly bruises decorating her upper left arm and scratches of all sorts drawing angry red designs over the once-flawless canvas of her legs. The neck of her tank top was straight, reaching to her collarbones, though a few thin red traces curved around to the base of one side of her throat. She scowled, comforting herself with happy fantasies of Yellow and Blue looking like mummies in some hospital. Keh, no, that was too easy. She hoped instead that they were sitting in some jail cell- if Avalon even had such facilities- and in the company of "friendly" co-convicts. Yes, that was _much_ better.

Bringing herself from her vicious reveries, Faye snuck a peek at the guitar-man out of the corner of her eyes, noting that, while he had been correct in his opinion of her appearance, he was looking nothing short of gorgeous at the moment. His chocolate tresses were once again tied back at his nape, unruly bangs filtering into his lively eyes and whispering along the high planes of his smooth cheeks. The slightest bit of stubble shadowed his chin and jawline, but it only served to make him look rakishly handsome, especially with that damned near-constant smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. And he really did have a nice mouth… Faye's attention deliberately moved to his dress, which consisted of a pair of dark blue jeans in much better repair than her own, fitting snugly to his narrow waist and showing off that he indeed had a nice ass. His shirt wasn't exactly what one would call tight, but the black cotton fit him in such a way that the fabric moved and hinted at washboard abs and a chiseled chest. The lack of sleeves brought attention to his slender yet muscular arms, arms that seemed just waiting to wrap around a girl's waist, hands that looked as capable of soft caresses as lethal blows. It was a tantalizing image, and even Faye found herself tempted.

She continued watching him as they wandered their way aimlessly through the labyrinthine streets, eventually drifting out of the meandering crowds and into emptier regions that were blessedly lacking in the boisterous noise of the bar streets they had begun from. It wasn't long until they were the only pair on a lonely sidewalk, faceless, nameless warehouses rising around them, harboring anonymity behind their analogous cement effigies.

"Like what you see?" His voice broke through her observations in quiet amusement, though she had never turned her face to look at him, and he had had his eyes trained forward for as long as they'd been walking.

If Faye had been surprised by his perceptiveness, she never showed it. A coy smile touched her mouth and she put her gaze in front of them again. "Maybe."

"Hm… good."

"Oh? What, afraid to be found unattractive?"

He grinned. She didn't look, but she could feel it. "No, not worried about that."

"What then?"

"That's my little secret."

"You should know, I'm _very_ good at getting information I happen to want."

"That so?"

"Care to find out?"

"Uh… Maybe later." Faye turned an inquisitive look on him and caught the wary look in his eyes, transparent eyes that didn't have anything to hide. And right now, they weren't hiding his tension. He glanced one way, then another, then reached out and gently hooked a hand around Faye's right bicep. "Come on."

Faye didn't struggle or protest as he led her towards an alleyway, only asked, "What is it?"

"We're being followed. More accurately, I think _you're_ being followed."

"Who the hell would want to shadow me?" Obviously, Faye's brain wasn't working so well through her dying hangover, because as soon as the words left her mouth, she knew she'd asked a rather stupid question.

As if to prove her point, guitar-guy gave her a wry, quirked-brow look, amusement dancing in his cobalt hues as if she were some eternal source of mirth for him. "Gee, well I don't think you made any _friends_ last night, do you?"

"No not really." Her tone was dry but she could feel the embarrassment burning on her cheeks.

"Shh." He placed a finger to her lips, pressing them together and ignoring her wide-eyed expression as he similarly pressed his body to hers, tipping his head down and hunching his shoulders protectively.

Faye's already scattered thoughts broke into a fragmented frenzy, hyper aware of every inch of her body that oh-so seamlessly molded to his frame. She could feel the warmth of him radiating through both of their clothes, and though a distant part that personified the infamous Shrew, Faye Valentine, screamed at her to push him away, get him off, suckerpunch the bastard, _something_- she didn't move. Her body was completely unresponsive to her muddled mind's commands, arms hanging limp at her sides and spine frozen stiff. Her head was turned up, eyes breaching the distance of their heights and locked to his unblinking gaze. His finger hadn't moved from her mouth, as if he thought she might try to yell at him and blow their cover if he released his simple yet commanding hold on her mouth. His face held no expression, even that wry twist to the corner of his lips absent.

She could feel her every slow, even breath matching his, her breasts brushing against his rising chest each time they inhaled, stoking an unwelcome, unwilling warmth curling low in her belly. His hand dropped away from her face, and she found herself wanting the warm, soft touch back. However, each and every thought about his body's proximity to hers was banished as she belatedly heard what he had noticed so much sooner: footsteps. They were evenly paced and slow, deliberate, cautious. There was more than one set, at least one other striding along in perfect sync. There were no murmurings, no grumblings about work or friendly banter; just a heavy, tension-thickened silence. That, if anything, is what confirmed guitar-man's assertions to Faye.

Her eyes narrowed, a shifty, hard look entering unbeknownst into the jaded jade depths and she broke the deadlocked stare with the man in front of her, gaze furtively looking for someplace to see what was coming at her. They came to rest on a dim-lit slat between the wall and guitar-guy's ribs, and she, without so much as a thought, pressed herself flush against his lean frame, missing the widening of his eyes as she stood on tiptoe to peer over his shoulder, one small hand bracing on his sternum, again oblivious as he inhaled sharply, then calmed again almost immediately.

Faye watched through her bangs as three silhouettes passed by the mouth of the alley, none of the shadowed figures even taking a glance in the hidden pair's direction. Green irises narrowed to suspicious slits, silently cursing the artificial sunset that backlit the mysterious figures and hid their features in shadow.

At last, they were far enough away, and she allowed herself to relax in the slightest, body melting away from the hard lines of guitar-guy's frame and back touching the cold cement behind her. "They're gone. Who do you think they were?"

He didn't answer right away, and Faye's eyes skittered to his face, all her wariness not lost. His visage was carefully expressionless, though his eyes were far from blank, and just as unreadable. A line crept between her brows in unspoken concern, but it was shoved to the back of her mind as he cleared his throat and gave his belated reply.

"Uhm… my best guess would be someone else from the White Tiger syndicate. Your little friends last night were their new high rollers, and I don't think they much appreciated your handiwork."

Faye's eyes widened, mouth gaping open and loosing a heated rush of profanity. Just wonderful! As if having to watch every step she made for creditors and collectors weren't enough! Fuckity-fuck-_fuck_! "What the fucking hell should they be going after _me_ for?! _I'm_ not the one who kicked their asses, _you_ are! So maybe it's _you_ they're so desperately seeking an audience with, huh?!" She punctuated her point by stabbing a ruby nail into his chest, forcing him back a few steps with a slight grunt and grimace.

"If they were after me, I'd know." His face slackened a little, as if in relief. He regained his cool, lackadaisical expression and took another step away from her, his shoulders lifting and posture righting as the distance between them increased. "What you should be worried about is what you're going to do about them."

"Do?" Faye blinked, as if this angle had not occurred to her. "Well… I'll leave, I guess. No use sticking around here if I'll have to skulk around in the shadows…"

Guitar-guy snorted softly as she trailed off, arching a single brow as she shot him a droll, unamused look. "You're just going to run away from them, then? It's a syndicate, my Fairy; they don't just go away."

Faye's features darkened for a moment, her gaze drawing inward to peer down some interminably long and shadowed corridor of the past. "I know," she murmured. "Running away from people like them… only makes everything worse."

Oddly, the nonchalant musician got the impression that she was speaking on an entirely separate subject, her words only relating to the situation at hand by happenstance as her attention refocused on something else, something he couldn't see and couldn't comprehend. However, he decided to simply file those thoughts away for later speculation, and address her statements as if she had been speaking in the here and now. "So face them. That's all there really is you can do."

At last, she seemed to return to herself, to the present, there with him. She cast him a wry, sarcastic glance, replying, "Riiight… and how exactly am I to do that? If you've forgotten, I'm not exactly in peak condition to go busting ass."

He simply smiled in return. "So let me help you."

Faye looked up into his eyes in confusion, her brows drawing together and eyes narrowing suspiciously. "Help me?" She took a step away from him, as if only just remembering that this was a stranger, someone she knew absolutely nothing about, not even so much as a name to call him by. What was wrong with her? This was no time to not have her head together. She didn't know anything about him and had no grounds on which to place him on any level of trust. But… it seemed so… natural, so easy to simply give him credence and rely on his strength. "Why would you help me? Why have you helped me this far?" She licked her lips a little nervously, suddenly worried about her current position, fingers creeping oh-so slowly towards the back of her waistband, where she had secured her Glock.

She never had a chance.

There was no warning, no telltale gesture or giveaway movements; it was that sudden. He was that fast.

The next thing Faye's mind registered was the low pain as her back slammed against the wall once again, the warmth and strong solidity as his body was molded to her front, the tight, careful grip his long, artistic fingers held on her wrists, pinning her to the cinderblock behind her. Wincing from the initial pain of having still-fresh bruises and scrapes so roughly handled, her wounded emerald gaze sought out his cool sapphire ones, a wave of uneasy nostalgia rushing through her as a pair of mismatching chocolate hues were momentarily superimposed over guitar-man's eyes.

The unnerving image was dispelled as he refocused her attention on him, bending his head so that their eyes were level, breaths mingling and brushing against each other's mouths. His face was still more or less expressionless, but his eyes held so much, more than she could ever decipher, the most prominent of his emotions determination, something akin to anger, and something else… something Faye didn't want to identify.

"If I were going to hurt you, I would have done it by now." His tone was low, husky, slightly rough, and she hoped it was because he was angry with her. "I want to help because I _want_ to. Isn't that enough? I don't need ulterior motives to do something."

Faye lowered her head a little in resignation, eyes falling away from his penetrating gaze. Her breath caught in her throat and eyes widened a bit as his hand was no longer a stern shackle on her right wrist, vise-like grip melting away as he slid a roughened palm and long, slender fingers up her skin, fitting to her own hand, fingers interlacing. His other hand allowed her arm to drop back to her side, freed fingers clasping gently and firmly onto her chin, drawing her face up and closer to his once more.

Faye's eyes showed white all around, immediately flying up and locking to his steady blue gaze. What—what was he…?

…I know I don't know you

But I want you so bad

Everyone has a secret

Oh, can they keep it?

Oh no, they can't…[3]

Heartbeat quickening, racing thoughts slowing to an inarticulate crawl, she could nothing but stand there and stare as those clear, beautiful eyes drew closer and closer… her own eyes fluttered closed as she felt the warmth of his nearness, each soft exhalation playing over her mouth. He seemed to hover there for an eternity, not touching her, and Faye felt indecision and confusion swelling in her breast, warring with the unexpected warmth pooling low in her stomach.

"I don't want to hurt you, Fairy… but that doesn't mean I don't want something from you…" His lips brushed hers in ghost touches with every word he spoke, sending minute tremors down Faye's spine and stealing away her breath. He was silent for a moment again, then, just as she was sure was going to kiss her… he stepped back.

The cool, temperature-controlled air of Avalon slammed against Faye at the absence of his body's heat, and she felt an answering warmth growing in her cheeks as he stepped further back and regarded her with that infernal, cocky casual, one-sided smirk, thumbs hooked in back pockets and eyes laughing, though darkened with… _no denying it now, Faye_… desire.

And Faye wasn't so sure how she felt about that.

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

"So, we'll meet tomorrow?"

"Yeah, at the Adonis Bistro on Valhalla. Open-air table. We can discuss what to do about your friendly neighborhood stalkers then."

"Alright…" Her reply was reluctant as she stood under the streetlamp, body half-turned in the direction of her apartment. He turned in kind, ready to head back to his own keep. Her hand shot out of its own accord, snagging on his arm and returning those amused Prussian hues back to her face, fingers just as quickly leasing his sleeve as though she'd grasped a live coal. "Um… Since we're going to be working together, I should at least know your name."

He smiled genuinely, shoving a hand through his loosed, thick dark hair before offering it to her in a peculiarly formal greeting, extending a hand between them. "Raef Rosier, at your service. And you are?"

"Faye… Romani." Faye placed her own hand lightly in his proffered one, mouth curling into a coy smile as he lifted it and brought it to his lips. Oh no, she may be willing to let him help her… but in no way did she trust him. And the light dancing in his crystalline eyes told her that he could see this all too well.

His mouth lingering, he murmured against her skin, "The pleasure is mine… Faye."

[][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][][]

Finis (until next time)

*[1] Bright Lights – Matchbox 20

**[2] Sunglasses at Night – Corey Heart

***[3] Secret – Maroon 5

Author's note: Oh yeah… *winces and peeks out from behind her chair* I know, I know… *sighs* I owe you all one hell of an apology. *bows lowly* Gomen nasai, minna-san! This chapter, while being undeniably shorter than the others (and not a work I'm entirely too happy with, either), was also a really long time coming. It's been, what… *grimaces* Oh, only about a month or so since I updated last… Eheheh… heheh… heh. Er, yeah. Well, actually, I have good reasons. Not only have I been slammed with the most hellish case of writer's block yet in my experience (and I'm still trying to shake it), but there's been some… extenuating circumstances, to say the least. *snorts* Now, it's a true fact that most readers don't actually read the author's notes, but I offer my explanation anyways. My life's been stretched thin and beaten with a staff in the passing days since my last update, and it's currently being turned inside out and upside down. You could say that I've rather lost track of myself amidst the chaotic confusion of it all. So, I ask you all to please bear with me on this, and I absolutely refuse to give up on this. No way. This is the first fic for which I've received such credit and wonderful praise, and I owe it all to you. Now… I wonder just how many of you will actually still be reading this once I post it in the morning, but down at the very end, there will be Reviewer Responses. I felt that I owed it to those of you who were so kind as to respond to me. : ) Now, I know this chapter seems hardly more significant than to be filler, and though some of it actually is, there're actually quite a few major turning points in this piece that won't be completely brought to light until a later date. *grins* I promise though, that things are going to start getting exciting soon.

Sooo… XD Alright, so what do you think of him!? And for those of you who read this and watch for the allusions (Aniiston, I love you SO MUCH!!), maybe you should check into that last name of our dear Mystery Man! I know it may seem that things with him and Faye are moving quickly, but that's sort of the point. Raef-kun was never one to take things slowly. *smirks* And as for that seemingly pointless interlude with the (insubstantial, unimportant) character, Marcus… *slaps her hands on the desktop to wake the readers up* PAY ATTENTION!!!

And with that, on to a note from our lovely, talented, and ever-so-insane beta-babe!! (and as soon as you choke down her sour grapes, you can get to the real sweetness! REVIEW RESPONSES! ;p)

B.R.N.: Lights! Camera! Action! *slides on stage with a billowing purple cape* Welcome to the show of ME. Now, if you think this fic is all about Cowboy Bebop and… stuff. YOU'RE WRONG! It's ALL about ME! *adapts a high-pitched chibified voice* Me mememememememememe ME! In today's episode, we will discuss… *looks around in bewilderment* *removes the pucker from her lips* What?! ME? A sour grape?! NO! What the hell are you talking about? Alright people, think… Cotton Candy. I think that rather suits me nicely. And as for Raef, I just love that little egocentric, luckless (seeing how he gets stuck with Faye and all) bastard. Oh and yes, I DARE every single fucking one of you to look up his last name! NOW! AND I MEAN IT! You will get a BIG laugh out of it. Trust me. (And no, I am NOT obsessed!) Now that Spike is out of the picture (for now, I really don't know what's gonna happen), I quite like this Raef-Faye – almost – pairing. Well, the chemistry between them, to say the least, is both engaging and seductive. *brandishes around a floppy dildo* And no, I am not a nympho. *sticks her tongue out at them all* I'm just… observant. And again, I don't practice voyeurism in ANY way. ((Suuuure she doesn't… XD)) 

((And to make it up to you poor, poor readers for having to read such a short and inept chapter, we bring to you, for your reading torture-ah, I mean pleasure!, a Nyxie-Kayren coalition piece… Insanity Fair))

*Kay leaves the stage only to come back in costume* Hi, my name is Fruit E. Batt and I have a problem…

*Jet flounces in dressed as Peter Pan – tights and all – and puts his hands on his hips* Jet: I'm going to teach you how to fly. 

Kay: I _already_ know how to fly, numbskull. 

Jet: Oh. Well. Then. Um… would you like to share a bit of Tinkerbell's dust with me then? 

Nyxie: Yo, Kay--*stumbles back in wide-eyed, abject horror* What the fucking holy hell have I stumbled in on?!

*Tinkerbell flies in and waves her magic wand above Nyxie's head, thus turning her into Misty clad in an icing-pink, ankle-length dress*

*Kay busts out laughing, pointing to the horrid pink anomaly*

Nyxie: *twitch, twitch* Oh… Jesus… Tapdancing… CHRIST!!! *rips the dress to shreds, revealing a black leather dominatrix suit* NyAAAAAAhahahahahahahahahaaaa!! *grins maliciously, eyes shining with insane glee* And now ye shall learn why I am called Nyxie HELL!!! *points wickedly-pointed wand at Kay* NYAH!!! *POOF* NOW who's laughing, eh?!? *there stands Kay, looking for all the world as though nothing has changed* Heheheh… Now our poor Gren is not alone!!! *cackles* Do your pants feel heavier, dear?!!?

*Kay still doesn't notice anything just yet, her mind still occupied with another, more disturbing thought* Wow… I didn't know Misty was so… kinky… *looks down* Oh my… whatever could THAT be? *pulls the band of her pants away from her* Oh MY. Well… at least I'm… well endowed.

Nyxie: O.o; Just like a psycho to ENJOY that… *shudders* Ugh, here comes my cookies… *reverts back to her normal self* If I didn't hate Misty before, your… *ahem* "reaction" certainly sealed the deal… *blanches* I need a shower… I feel dirty…

*Jet skips in again, this time in a Girl Scout uniform* Did somebody say cookies?

Nyxie: O.O;; HOLY HELL!! *scrabbles at the manacle on her wrist, locating the correct chain and jerking it*

*Stumbling in, shackled around the neck by a large chain-leash, Vicious* SIC ER, BOY!!

Vicious: *glares coldly at our poor author* You will die by my sword.

Nyxie: *GASPS* VISHIE-KUN!! HENTAI!!

Kay: *GASP… thinking of one very naughty Byron poem*

Vicious: *blatantly unamused* … I don't get it…

*Jet skips up and pats him on the back* That's okay, Mommy and Vishie-kun will have "the talk" later… when you're old…er… eh… *eyes Vicious' white hair* Man, how old _are_ you?

*Kay claps her hands and grabs a mic* Umm… that's all folks.

Nyxie: *dragging a glaring Vicious away by the ear and shoving a bar of soap down his throat* Yeah, GO HOME!!

((And now… we offer huge apologies for that literary blasphemy and pray that your vision returns by morning. *grins* It was fun though. Let us know if you'd like us to feature such endearing (emotionally scarring), comedic (licentious) pieces in further chapters. ^-^ Ja ne! (woe betide ye who read that which be inspired of boredom..) ))

REVIEW RESPONSES:

Jaid Skywalker: Aww, thanks for the kind words. : D They make me feel special!! *bows head* Gomen ne, I'm sorry this is so late in coming!! I'll try to be faster with chapter four, honest!!

Bloody Love: *grins* Liking the penname, hon. Sooo many nice ways to take that. ^-^ Thank you for your encouraging words, and here's your update (shh, ignore the date, pretend it came out WEEKS ago!!)

RinoaOHeartilly: *does her impression of a ripe tomato* You're too kind! ^_^ I'm so glad you like the details; details are one of my favorite parts of writing! I really enjoy trying to flesh out the scenes and set them up vividly enough to paint a picture in the reader's mind, clear enough to set them to the right canvas, but loose enough so that readers can paint with their own brush. Lol, I know, I know, a rebellious voice in my head wanted me to make it Spike too, if only for the love of that Chia-headed cowboy. ;p But alas, 'twas not to be. *grins malevolently* And as for whether or not I'll be keeping Spike dead… you'll just have to read and find out for yourself, now won't you? *bats her eyelashes innocently*

Nurse Rebecca: Ah, another of my favorite reviewers! You and Rinoa-chan have both been so kind in reviewing not only this story, but my silly little oneshots as well. As for the previous chapter, I'm so glad you liked it!! And thank you so much for your specific opinion on the action; I sorely needed feedback on that, and the number of responses pertaining to that little blip were a little disappointing. : ) I'm glad I managed to pull off the effect well enough, though the edges could still use some smoothing out, I'm sure. And yes, Raef-kun is a little bishie, but don't tell _him_ that! He's got a swollen enough head as it is! *snorts* And about him and Faye, it's pretty obvious by now, I think, that he at least is attracted to her. XD As for how Faye acts in return, well… maybe if people review with suggestions… heheheh…

ShinyFairyLights: Ah, konnichiwa, and arigatou for the praise! Such sweet words are music to my ears. ^-^ And you, too, liked the action and commented on it! *bows* Domo arigatou! I am glad it got you into it and that I didn't screw up. ^^ As for updating… *looks sheepish, then sports a cheeky grin* If you look at it this way, according to yesterday, today is tomorrow, so… I'M IN THE CLEAR!! *does a victory dance*

Aniiston: You, my friend, humble and give me great honor with your kind, indulgent words. *grins* And yeah, G rated our fan-shipping asses!! FF.NET NO BAKA!!! Lol… yeah, I tried to change that about three or four times, and it finally went through after you pointed out to me that they had failed to comply to my demands once again. No way in HELL is this for 'general audiences' of any sort!! And to you, I must give special credit! You, my dear, have been the only reader of this fic to catch any of the allusions so carefully and meticulously woven into the plot, aside from my beta reader, who is just as obsessed with allusions as I am. : D There're a couple more of 'em in here for ya, if you can find them I'll give you a cookie!!

And for the compliments of my characterization of Faye, I thank you immeasurably. I was worried I had not conveyed what I had wanted to, but it seems I hit the spot I wanted to after all. ^-^ And thank you also, for what you said about guitar-boy there. Usually, original characters are poorly received and tend to be ghastly overrated. I feared people would think him too over the top, but I guess not. ^.~ If you'll notice, does he seem familiar to you? I've sort of mixed in a few traits from pre-existing Bebop characters and skewed and manipulated and twisted until I was satisfied with his character. ^^ Lemme tell ya, this guy is something else. Recently, he's been playing the Muse in the back of my head, and I'm _thiiiiiis_ close to castrating the turd if he doesn't get more forthcoming with the inspiration! YES!! Blame it all on the Muse!! Bad Raef, _bad!!_ Lol ;p

And thanks for those compliments on the piece with Julia. The woman *cough*syndicatewhore*cough*bitch*cough* is not inherently one of my favorite people, but ya know, personal opinions were grievously sacrificed in the making of this fic for sake of realism. I had to play nice, or else I'd have the Julia shippers breathing down my neck. ;p And thank you, I tried very hard to capture the essence of Julia, even though there wasn't much to go on throughout the series; she seemed more of the intangible ideal of tragic hero's suffering rather than a substantial fixation, if ya ask me. *shrugs* But ah well, c'est la vie. You should read my oneshot, A Bloody Fairytale; that's probably one you'd appreciate, and it's one I am particularly proud of. I was able to reach a deeper level of meaning and thought with that three-pager than I am able to in most multi-chapter fics. : ) It's sort of my pet project, if you will.

Oh!! OH!!!! Everyone listen up!! *a bright spotlight snaps on, fixing on Aniiston* This kind, wonderful soul has so deigned to feature this shit-ette fic on his developing website, Evanasia. When he lets me know that the site is completed, I'll let all of you know so you can check out his specially designated site for *good* fanfiction! : D Everybody support Aniiston! He's so nice to me!!

Brigidforest: Aww, thanks darlin! I'm glad you liked it, and here's another chappie!! OH!! (SHAMELESS PLUG) Everyone should check out Brigid-chan's fic, Breaking Point. It may be a little slow developing (I have NO room to talk), but it's intriguing and altogether very interesting. I really want to see how it develops and OO!! She updates WAY faster than I do, so YEAH! Check her out!!


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